Fingers fall down on her hook
as we watched the dog die.
A blonde beast with eyes toward the sky,
deep bark eyes that made trees double back and look.
Rows of cosy cut fences lined in front
obscuring dog and death from us,
held breaths hung  as if mist on moors
thus lingering around ‘til horsebacks hunt.
Hooves for hands fumble, tremble,
lead to the inner assembly of
organs, functions and that hidden temple-
shaped teardrop like, rains nothing quite
like the weather above.