The poison garden always open for business; no reassuring lock, no drawbridged moat - here be dragons in bloom. My dragons, readying for me their gaping maws, their singeing breath. They remember my name always, always, when I’ve unforgotten theirs. Speaking, belonging, welcome home. The path has no safe passage no endearing charm but calls with siren song, in disguise of wonder, to the adam in my soul. The gate is closed but my fingers draw close to the handle.