Fresh Kill

Feb 8 2013


The only evidence
of a fresh kill
was the snow-blind whiteness
stained red.

A dead animal

dragged into the trees,

or plucked skyward
in sharpened armoured claws.
All the frozen bodies
never seen
in nature.

Just the blood-red stain

that remains
on ice,

florid, fresh.

No fading

to dull brown dregs,

the colour everything

ends in.

The expert death.
Eyes glazed, in surrender,
tiny heart pumping
until nothing's left.
Then the edges, slowly spread,

blooming

like water-colour paint
on absorbent paper.

In the eternity
of winter
the blood-red stain
stays bright
almost festive.
As the violence has ebbed
in snow-dampened quiet,
and animals
dead, and dying
succumb unseen.

While the life force
they leave
may last as long as art.
This is the primary colour, the essence
of red,
so sharp
you can hear their cries
go silent.