She lies in her form
Angular elbows rest on round thighs.
Wide black-pointed ears
Scooping up the agricultural thunder,
Hear harmony of weeds,
And unexpected gonging of bellringing practice.
Her scut is damp with dew.
Above her cow parsley droops low,
The toothy crunch of angelica
Sounds inside moist mouth.
Lilies of the valley have escaped garden cultivation.
Whiskers whisper of soil unseen.
A cleft lip trembles without fear
As an age-worn rock shifts,
Only grendels of the ground.
Scents of soil bacteria, mycorrhiza,
A previous season's puff-balls
Barely breathe a spore.
Long shoving feet distract from within,
Not slipping out yet.
Her litter is late coming.
Last year's leverets jump the moon.