The Kill
Black teeth and wires
dead wood ripped from grey scrabbling earth
the thighs and the root ends
sprawling veins still damp
and humming.
He cut a path through the field, dragging
the beast behind him,
its open eye white
and unseen in the dark save by the scatting arc
of the dangled torch
breathless and nervy in my sweaty
cold palm.
Limbs stiff and bouncing,
hopping over rivets and ploughscars
whooping and bleeding no stars
came to us, tripping on pebbles
and pumpkin creepers.
Tugged fur came off in clumps at the rasp
of clutching hands
And his head
shaved and drawn,
faced forward, brow breaking the air’s
waves to the fire
that burned up hooves and hairs
and drew in the night around it.
Hiding
Sleep soundly like a
crab, all in a space
of rocks
and a drip of water
all spiny shell safe and
egg shell white, wet sand.
Only the calls catch the wind
The towers, the lighthouses.
A stage
Everything seems cut out,
Everything seems cut out,
in layers, falling neatly behind
the last,
slotted into the earth
the last,
slotted into the earth
Here is where the house
ends
Here is where the trees
ends
Here is where the trees
begin
Here is where the trees
end
Here is where the trees
end