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Pointer


The gruff order of the hound
Strips buds off the hedge
Grasses shiver in the ditch

Each sniff-point hardens a muscle
Any whiff of musk or sweat
Pinions the body like a vane

Behind there is a human voice
But this only bounces off the ears
And breaks on the sodden floor

The mysterious milk-bowl
Traces the evening sky above
Obscuring the brittle bone stars

A faint murmur twitches the air
It is the track of a skinny vixen
Cheating the twilight of colour

But there is no movement in the house
The dog is asleep and miming
Ghosts off the garden wall

© David Incoll 2001


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Copyright by David Incoll 2001