~ By Courtesy of Others ~
0
The Fool
Loki was going along…
accompanied by the little dog.
A shapeshifter too, he trotted behind
first sentinel, now protector, then antagonist.
Loki laughed and danced,
hair in the wind, goods in his bag
slung on his walking stick,
divining rod, fighting staff, wand.
All he owned bundled into a scarf
sometimes a fur, hide, silk.
Four square holding tools & weapons.
Tales such as this.
Stories are tools and weapons both.
Food and drink.
This story is a song, the first
and last and every one
in between.
The dog yapped a warning.
Ahead is a cliff. Danger.
Loki knew the language of all:
Dogs—cliffs even.
He listened with his gut.
But that is my choice, little one.
Not to look before I leap.
Die, if I will, to live another adventure.
Another life, another form.
He tossed the stick and bag
at the little dog.
They’d follow.
Or maybe not.
Loki spread his arms wide,
toes digging into the edge,
flung himself forward, arching.
Dove into the void
…and he went along.
© Karen Emanuelson