Ankyra Sound in memory of sniffy cole

what were the odds,
a beachcombing man
an amazonian girl
all framed under the same
wax yellow and
indifferent moon.
he thinks there's a pause there,
but he can't read too much into it;
shadows and all.

he nods. her thin back turns
and she's trotting.
for a time he turns his head
to the indigo sky
eyes closed as the wind
combs through his fur
and bites at the crook of his belly.

it can't all be bad,
he thinks.

all the while
there's a man watching on the cliff top
ears flat to his skull
and gaze drawn full bore
on the sights below.