The ocean was on the wind

and seabirds trod the meadow  

by the grey river, thread

through iron crag

and melancholy forest.

 

Twelve young stags sheltered

under the thought of a tree, then rose,

crossed the path, their brushes

already dipped in the dark,

dangerous musk of spring. 

 

Tip toe,

among the stunted oaks

of a secret slope, 

the dappled girls

stopped, 

sniffed

……. and shivered.   

 

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