Poetry

Tracking

The path this morning leads off lightly through the bush,
a pale tail of sand flicking
away through grass and shadows.

The sand remembers
four feline feet that confidently printed
clean light points of occupation,

the small neat rump
that dipped and rose
with each slunk step,

a snake of a tail swishing
with its own impatience,

the soft breath of a presence
that passed last night
and left permission
for her footprints to remain

~ By John Roff ~