Fauna (Poetry)

The air is made of musk — a cloud of you
grey-shadowing your coming —
an earthy precursor to the gentle storm
that rolls in
trailing long thin echoes of the herd —
the far-off beat of hooves
circling...

I breathe you — feel the press
of centuries that fill me with their dust
you hunt me out —
my warmth — the shudder in my heart
thrills through and through
dark-fingered as a thought
caressing you.

Shapes shift and mould their absences —
what is and isn’t you —
and eyes deceive where outlines blend
night hangs still and waiting...
scents grown stronger — brew their longing
tempt you to break cover — step brazenly
into the open.