a warm January night
shivas crescent moon is poised
a hole punch in a sheet of charcol blue
elk stands
dog postures
both playing out thier parts
yet neither threatened into action
beyond a BARK
trees a referee
calling lines of play
allowing each being to live
no need for conflict.
as you were
and what were you?
returning to the joy of the moment
sucking marrow
a re-tasting of this mornings grass
such clarity in the rolls
the white babe beast bounds
proud of his performance
shiva climbs
tress disappear
sky eats the playing field for dinner
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