penning

moments before sunset
words that are picked and laid
as if they were the lion,
gentle on the prey.

breeze working its way through branches
as if a stroke of a pen
giving life from the mundane.
unscrambling drama,
in hues of orange, on the plains.

and in the draft,
the flowing blood mixes,
forming the stains,
as the meat provides the taste.
giving off, to all that remains.

images filling the shadows
by the dusk, moonlight
nestled within the leaves
the body, the core
evidence of the pure
a touching of the strong
as in words, all ventures on.