that red scent
from before, cut across the weedy pines
footprints from before, however long ago
maybe an hour, maybe millenia
the scent remains, consequence of time
what was lost there, what wore hooves
Decorated with girthy horns
the cornucopia biologico
and the bristled muzzle, teeth too
would speak no secrets of the sheath
or how they mounted, step by step
the cliff side miles
to taste the leafy wonder of the climb
however long
ECW Poetry 