Paracelsus Keeps His Promise
by Steve Sneyd

As if gravity drained into
wise one stood shadow curtain
thermometer shatters, unleashed
silver globe like starling’s blood
leap into air, reassemble, shape
to sword enters daughter’s throat
re-emerges through nape to dance
back to that darkness’ glovecloaked
talon—as all fades into
dimness, voice murmurs from beyond
fading gleam of obedient toy
“Azoth as promised cureth all.”