She is brave.
I am not.
When first I am aware of her,
she is in frenzied battle against
monstrosity of momentarily feral
young men intent on feeding
Her energy ignites me.
I feel forced to act in her behalf.
There are too many for me to drain.
At my size despite gorging capacity, '
I could take maybe the two smallest.
I can leap, grab, suck quickly on each,
turn off their power with
my bite’s gifted vacation to oblivion.
I embrace her, hold close, escape through the ether.
We emerge on a secluded walk of river beach
I frequent, a memorized retreat.
She is shaken from the attack, shivering,
unable to clearly speak.
It is clear she has no fear of me, no trepidation
or awe or confusion about my role in this adventure.
She looks to be a bit older than I do, at that awkward
interval of rounding into womanhood unevenly.
She is very young.
Still, there is an ancient aspect to her countenance.
Perhaps it is shock, a distancing from emotional trauma.
But I feel her basic strength, a will made for
She makes eye contact, clings to my eyes with hers
for comfort, for a locus of calm.
She makes grateful introduction, offers her name.
She is called Autumn, season of my Lady’s fall
into Her fate.
I feel this Autumn’s presence, essence, so strongly.
How is this mortal child meant to intersect
with my destiny?