once upon a time,
the atog lived,
feeding on thoughts,
feasting on memories.
he was the wizard’s pet,
the sorcerer’s sagacity;
they took care of him,
and the atog was not choosy:
facts, or fiction,
it was the same to him,
patient he was,
standing still, waiting
in deep analysis,
in concentration,
for his time to pounce.
one stroke only,
a single upheaval
to cleanse the clutter,
was what it needed…
to shoot the stars.
