hutch . . . trophy . . . hide

. . . there . . . its eyelid strains for the blossom . . . I pressed on up the steep path . . .

keep on . . . going for the trophy . . . they hide in a hutch . . . with streams

sounding I wade in . . . looking close at eyelids . . . on the path ahead . . . some fold . . . .

. . . onto the steep path . . . looking close . . . their hutch hidden . . . sutured up
and wide-eyed . . . they prowl, remember the dispatch . . . steeper . . . .

. . . by the minute . . . I shouldn’t . . . my eyelids heavy . . . I whisper close . . .
to yours . . . trophy to what is hidden . . . .

branches . . . tawny . . . dread . . . disappear

I’ve slowed . . . trying invisibility . . . they pull at the upper most branches
. . . their sleek necks . . . each in turn . . . motor noises slowing . . . and tawny grass

. . . disappear . . . I elegize, dreading it . . . as afternoon tries to slow . . . lie down . . . .

. . . they stomp and pound above the motors….my ears disappear . . .

sounds now are a dreaded new language . . . they sway . . . laboring and slow
. . . small time . . . abandoned to . . . slapping the days down . . . dispossessed

and dreadful falling branches . . . soft fur near their temples . . . lean in

slow but disappearing . . . mine too, turned . . . .

heavy . . . mark . . . sorry

. . . I’d take back the threat . . . the heavy . . . and in the dark, huffs

even in moonlight . . . against rough walls . . . how sorry keeps . . .
tracking the absences . . . with thuds, barks . . . retreats . . . they, the villains

talk without tongues . . . black markings . . . sorry behind me . . . now ahead . . . .

. . . rough little grottoes . . . how they show with thuds . . . their heavy tracks

. . . knew what’s better for them . . . I was . . . they’re absent now . . .
I plumb the grottoes and heavy walls . . . the sorry show of moonlight . . .

on route they thud . . . they show themselves . . . .