Orange is the Colour of Word
Poetry is a sky dark with a wild-duck migration. - Carl Sandburg
Sunday, June 17, 2012
It's Not Love
like it was before.
It’s an animal that waits
haunches tensed
in the forest in the night
eyes listening
for that deep rustle
a gleam of something
eluding the catch
crack of branch
anticipation of a meal
something to devour
a quick spill of blood
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