by Lorraine Tolliver



I’ve seen seven dragons, myself,

since I’ve been in Norway.

One was gray,

hovering over a stone mountain.

He drifted off after awhile

past the fields to the west. Then

one yesterday lolled over the lake.

He was a silver creature

bright as white mist.

Now today I’ve seen four more

guarding the corners of a stave church,

fierce and able to scare off evil spirits.

Of course, not as fierce

as the oak dragon carved on the bow

of four hundred year old Vasa.

He could scare ships away

before battle began.

Old Norge was crafty

when it domesticated dragons.