by Bruce Lader
Murder in the Dunes
They didn’t dream the dead horse
omened dissolution of their marriage.
They looked for footprints
of coyotes who had hounded
the marrow out of those rifted remains
unfaithful as dunes of strewn
emotions that shift with weather
and tides, but rippling sand
concealed evidence of attackers
like burrowed voles, hares
hiding in brambles, wind over
lake surfaces where tern, loon
and kingfisher dive.
A handful of minutes
would have buried the splotches
of blood in Oceano sand,
finished submerging the unbridled
carcass gnarled as driftwood
sifted down windblown furrows,
but they, infatuated with dunes
higher than tsunamis under spindrift
wings of cirrus were drawn to the hawk
revolving maelstrom sky.
He pointed to the killer whale,
she, a woman dressed in shadows;
neither wanted to think of their
love in ruins, the war that lurked
like an owl keen to swoop
their dens of separate silence,
leave them stranded in estranged night.
Last updated September 16, 2011