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Curling Like a Bow

Saw the morning too early, rain coming
eyes popped open, thoughts wringing
words eluded, like a rabbit fleeing
or an abbot locking his doors before a Viking raid;
my illuminated manuscript, book of Kells,
my silver golden I, curling like a bow
illustrated serpents, winged like dragons,
tongues extended unnatural long, allying
with unicorns and every disparate cryptid
a retinue of elastic demi-creatures, tangoing
caught between perplexity and communion
the friction of the heirless badger king,
maverick Swein the bully, divided lands,
a cousin returned to stir up mischief.