A Murder of Intent

It was the sun    of course
kissed each cheek    in that Godfatherly way
of portentous elegance

that glissade    your trademark isotope
entry and exit wounds
too near    their favoured haunt

the record winter    negative decline
misjudged by haughty dawn
so shallow there    the mirage

of three inch deep clouds
an icy soak    in Trojan cumulus pallor

your final shutter
the eye a hatch
between a horse’s drumming beat

watch them now    rise and drop
a weaver’s threading loop
do they remember    after each long cast

as their talons finally withdraw
what it was    they thought they feared

First published in ‘Somnia.blue’ Maximum Felix Media Dec 2017, Editor C S Hughes
‘Abandoned Soliloquies’ UnCollected Press Ellicott City MD 2019, p10.

For many years I’d watched the crows, occasional magpie, and wattle birds fly at and with the eagles that lived in the big trees behind the high dam. One icy morning an eagle dived too low across the plateau, veering into a pond which reflected back the sky in a perfect mirror image.

Picasso ‘woman with crow’.