Unicorns
Phillip A. Ellis
Under grey skies, in foliage dead
and brown, on faded green grass,
white beasts with gilt horns, hearts red
and steaming breaths, browse. Soon to pass
back into the mist, shyness wild
and untameable, eyes like glass
glint as they watch. Though mild
they seem, cropping the green
and wilting grass, their filed
and relentless horns mean
that even they have ways.
There they are, though seen
seldom enough, these days,
no ephemeral symbol but flesh
dwelling among the mist’s byways,
following the mist while fresh
and white, and when nears
noon, back into a mesh
of mist they flee. Rears
its dispersal, they hide
in secret hollows ever dark and drear,
ever far from day. And inside
these secret places, they wait
for mist again to ride
over the grass with its own weight.
Until then, when the mist has shed
itself, the unicorns crop and wait.
—For Rhiannon Evans: 02 August 2003
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Phillip A. Ellis is studying English at the University of New England, Armidale, Australia. He hopes to visit his girlfriend, Charlene, soon, who lives in Ohio.
Copyrighted by the author unless otherwise noted.
Art Director: Bonnie Brunish
