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by John Stocks

A day like any other; just a day,
A trail of footprints stretched across the beach,
Footfalls that always seem to end in silence.

A small boy flies his kite of flayed skin,
A tiny figure; immensity of sand
In trance-like oblivion, grounded here.

A day like any other; just a day

Beyond the beach the wildwood listens,
Adders coiled and poised on cool rocks
Viperously, wolves sulk patiently,
Loitering for scent of straying child.

And now a father smells the breath of deer
Her warm blood oozing over outstretched arms,
Spirit dancing in the peaty fire.

Copyright © 2006 by John Stocks

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