The Feral Child

Sisku found men-scratching a trapper's bin,
Cornered steaming like a fresh kill,
Breathing ice hostile fevered,
Eyes burning-she rocked for a year defiled,
Drilling a hole in the grey walled institute.

Buried in the cool folded tunnel of her arms,
A ghost made delicate with flesh shivering,
Rabbit pulled her feet through spiked grasses,
Tasting the dull shadows that stained the wind,
Whipping at wild things round the choked bulb.

Numbness clawed at bleached cheeks,
Trembling flat against the doors greedy air,
Tearing till it gaped like an eye flapping,
Tearing at the grey skins-who listened? Silence,
Only hovering dark whispered with a dry voice.

Pale echoes stirred the iron cold mountains,
Melting with the shadows she wore the dark,
Water woods sighed and swallowed the wind,
Her chiselled flesh gripped the bowl of a lake,
Bursting the moon and scattering stars.

Floating on softly through black emptiness,

Washing her dreams in the water locked skies,
Embraced by the limbs of lulling water,
She stared out beyond the empty world,
White hair flowering in the broken moon.