The Kill / Hiding / A stage

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,

in layers, falling neatly behind
the last,
slotted into the earth

Here is where the house
ends
Here is where the trees

begin
Here is where the trees
end