the
skin
on the
wall rippled
in
a phantom breeze
its head lifted to peer over
the trader's
shoulder as he turned and turned the native
war
knife
in
his
trembling hands
he mumbled "the eyes"
and
jerked his gaze to left and right
while behind him claws
unsheathed sheathed and unsheathed again
the love song of rabbits
where fur meets fang
and the green slit-pupil eye
the old man has still got it
though white hairs freckle sable
and he pauses
before a high jump