Two friends circle the air
three moons from Monto
friendship is measured in wingspan
in the joined eye of hunters
Dusk before day break, a loud cloud red,
Overlooks a dark steer
as it stamps its metallic breast
along the great snake’s back,
a voice of rumbling rock
in a throat made for slaughter
Hearing this drown the language of insects
Peewees and Crows hop clear, but
the Wedge-tail Eagle is too late for soaring
and is stunned in the way
of its death
Now one friend circles the field
—
The dark steer moves on
hungry to interupt the silence
Two moons reach into night
and for a third up near Monto 2005/2014
MChallis ©
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