Raised in feather and wild
I travel moon shadows, and inky stars.
With feet pressed into the ancient loam
of Mother Nature’s cheek I feel the path of vixens
vibrate directions into my legs to guide me
through fool’s gravel that bruises but never leads.
A phantom of instinct, sister of the hunt,
I can hear the devil’s lie before it slither’s
across his lips.
©Susie Clevenger 2020
