Lost in the turns

The eyes, the eyes never the snorting breath

Over the moor the clap of wings says the sun falls
and on the tree bones a tow-tow-tow-tow moan
calls down mist as I watch you turn and start back

At a table dinner in the silence of empty chatter
a locked out moon dances in the silver strew
of night while somewhere a vixen’s yelp rides the wind

With string found I walked away and left your horns

Published in three drops from a cauldron


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