Game

In the stolen hour 

all the deer came hunting


in great herds 

of a hundred pieces


they tested it with their shiny teeth

the blood 

thickening the smooth muzzles

of roebuck 

and doe 

sickening to see 


the frightened animals 

fleeing

hair trigger brained 

from the wood 


in the undergrowth 

at the bottom of the hill 


bare bodies 

made beautiful red ribbons 


by the bramble 

where they tried to hide their eyes 


–

A flock of finches 

feed on the dusty seeds 


dropped by a dried teasel 

head 


beneath the bough 

of an ailing beech tree


all of its masts 

cleared


from around the trodden earth 

pressed about its roots 


the smooth bark 

scarred 


the old stag’s antlers

rubbed clean 


of dried velvet 

a single pink campion flower


a father begs his daughter 

not to go to the river 


–


Two men crouch in the big house 

opposite the long barn 


cocked beneath 

an abstract line drawing hanging on the wall


fireweed and old Joe pye 

blow smoke 


through the cracked window

next to the door 


upstairs 

the little boy with the round face


and blonde hair 

growing long on the sides


crawls to the clearing

in the centre of his cot


and cries  

his mother whispers him a song


the sound the long grass makes 

when it moves


outside a silver fawn stoops 

and slowly circles


the blackened stems 

lying on the ground