So sly

He travels the earth like a snail
glides a razor's edge - so
sly - knows the secret foot
of unslicedness, the joy
of tajalli, the blessing of baraka.

La illaha illa Allah,
there is no Other,
but he's Jacob, cowrie
with shell of many colours.

His prehensile eyes bend
corners round, see you
before you see yourself.

You're trapped on trainlined
time, sniffing his slimetrail,
his indecipherable runes.

He's zing that says it's
the lemon, breeze that forges
a caress, the helical whizz
of a near-miss bullet.

Some call him El Khidr,
the Green One,
England's St. George -
hardly poikilothermic,
but for all that, not human.

He can never be happy
till you slay all nonexistent dragons.
You will never meet him, or yourself,
until you do.

A cloud glides over,
greys the green waters.

John Callaghan