The hot winds stretch and moan
and search along the shrinking earth,
hunt relentless in the drumming heat
and taunt the shrivelled grasses, sick and grey;
tap and claw the tattered leaves
that hang their fear across the barbed-wire trees,
exhausted, dumb,
curling upon their inward-burning pain.
The hot winds prowl in withered corners,
licking at the scorching ends of stone,
and scenting warily the dry, dead moss.
An unexpected pause.
The winds drop swiftly silent,
checked and coiled within the fury of the sun;
wait - unmoved, unmoving,
crouched upon the gathered breath
before the kill....
(March,
1985)
