Through a Griffin’s Smile

A griffin types furiously on the old Royal
as ivy and ferns try their damndest
to coil around the return key.
A land-locked scuba diver keeps a tally
of how many licks does it take
to get to the center
for our dear ballerina, who toils
amidst the brambles to seek the beauty
of release and with that, a leap into the One
whose hands can shape mountains
and cradle stars.
The griffin smiles, and it’s wicked, sweet,
as the story rises from behind the ribbon.

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