Summer, and the long stalks are already ripe
with waves breaking through their spear-points
as July winds breathe from the sun's mouth
and as in a sea cave we conceal ourselves there
like blooded hares we hide ourselves there
like hares, motionless in all but their darting eyes
will flatten into the earth, invisible to all but scent
and the hounds, unfoxed, have fastened, their baying
their need for blood, already in our ears, growing
louder as they crash through the corn, dripping
lust from their lips, still bloody from the last
of our brood, to where we hide without hope
.
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