I knew something was wrong
when the softness underfoot
resisted my tread. Something
stiffer than fox mess
with brittle parts turned out
to be the carcass of a bird
that was dead some time.
The moment that you realise
you are not alone in the undergrowth,
that a pair of eyes is watching you
hop about on one foot,
scraping the offal from your sole
on bark, makes you cry.
scraping the offal from your sole
on bark, makes you cry.
Then the surprise,
the flowers around you take flight.
They were butterflies.
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