Pellets for Swallows and Pike

Watch Death and bands of dying;
the bird stutters in the dust
the wolf sings into darkness,
and rabbits charge into the hood
like drunks on holy orders.
But the fly is most game
in its shroud,
when it drops like a punch to oak
and kicks on fire,
as its wings like chainsaws on its spine
grow slowly still in laps...

@Steven Francis poems 2009