Twisted trees

bullet,

point three oh three,

stopped

quietly, somehow,

left thylacene,

an epoch

with a bounty to be paid,

whimpering to an end

in a zoo

sixty thousand lines lost,

dust

thrown into lush mountains,

rites

finally unsaid,

footprints, paw marks, fire pits, pelts

buried under northerly winds

shadow sheep and lambs

lie in low sun,

safe,

raspberries fatten,

the disappeared are

alongside the

wolf-tigers, their songs

twisting trees