By Thomas Farr
Under empty, xeric sky
a herd of black gnu
wildebeest trample
green-gold grass,
a kettledrum
thunder
of cloven hooves
and mettlesome hematite
horns; wind billows
shaggy cordage,
moirés gauzy
fly-grazed
manes. Beyond
brocaded fever
trees –
journey’s end, terminus:
mighty Mara in muddy
swell. Elsewhere,
a barrel-blob
of hippopotamus
yawns cavern
jaws as water’s aestivating
mirror breaks, reforms
around naiant
wedge-shaped heads
and tails
bundled
like swords. The herd
descends the river’s edge;
spindly-legged, grey-crowned
cranes watch but give
no warning. Massive, cataphracted,
half as heavy
as a car –
the first erupting
archosaur
punches poignard
teeth into the warmth
of mammal
haunch.
Water crashes glossal
roars as phytosaur-
like armoured
forms drag
thrashing
backs and blatting, mother
parted calves
into crushing
kris-claw
clutch –
an imbrued blazonry
of blood
as Mara signs
her signature
in red.
About the Author:
Thomas Farr is a British writer of fiction and poetry, much of whose work explores and challenges the human/nature binary. He has appeared or is forthcoming in Livina Press,Tales to Terrify, Aôthen Magazine, Ram Eye Press, The Jupiter Review, what's the theme zine, tiny wren lit, Red Wolf Periodical, Humana Obscura and elsewhere. If he isn't writing, he's probably running or talking to his plants.
Twitter: @tfarrpoetry
wedge-shaped heads
and tails
bundled
like swords.
⚔️ Dynamite line.