Nose to wet grass
she snuffs. Sharp molecules hook
remembrance
of urine steaming pungent on deep-veined mallow leaves.
Her neck aches again
with the pleasure of his strong teeth.
Cool wind furrows her rump
as she tosses and whirls in yesterdays,
her jaws on him now, his black hairs coarse on her tongue.
The croak of crows shreds her dream,
drives her on until she stops, quivering
at red drops on gray fur tufts.
Only that.
But her heart pounds
and her ears shiver with a song from the dark canyon,
wild notes vaulting
until her heart would break with beauty and fear.
The scent floods her as a draught of water
that deepens thirst.
Then slowly, slowly
she turns
back to where the clipped hedge waits.
by Marian Peck
