When a shadow slips black,
deep in the background,
steep in the sleek sound of
cricket wings leaking,
singing six feet – under
lock and key.
You don’t need to understand me,
the hardness that backhanded me.
the stillness wrapped tight around.
My swan! Feathers spread for what?
Not flight! Grace treads light
enough, we fight.
No words. Just wings, singing
for the shadow, deep in the back
ground, the Warrior’s Echo.
