I took them racing in the lime fast air
to hunt and run and kill
their prey, the lesser forms of old despair
in thrall to nature's spill
A copse of shade to catch my breath
a fish packed pool
parting in a ring
when gold flesh
rises and withdraws
then eyes catch out and echo wrath
my career, my dogs who tear
my limbs, a stolen flute
falls in the seeping grass