His ascent is slow,
Those heavy feet now so light as they climb.
He turns his great, shaggy mane and says not a word
Even as they push their faces toward him.
With spite in every face
He watches them from sad, tawny eyes.
The white face is most prominent of all,
Cool, pale as an overcast sky
Ruthless as artic wind
Chiselled as rock face
She raises a blade
They cheer
Down in the bushes
They watch with wide eyes,
Reaching out
Across
One with her ivory horn
The other with a bottle in a clenched fist
The white face is closed
Like breathing a drug
The knife in flesh is her toxin
It has gone in deep.
It has made its mark
They are gone,
The two in the bushes weep
Bury weary faces in the fierce proud face
Then the stone cracks
And all is undone.
Far away, a battle rages,
And where one leads the army
The other makes up lost deeds.
It is done now
It is done.
