Deer’s Skull

This awkward chalky latch
must have been what flicked the ears
this way and that,

this snapped biro-end of bone
the thin corridor
that sounds of the fields crowded down.

To think these dusty caves of muzzle
were once aswirl
with the woods’ faint scents,

that under this brain’s thin
meander of suture, suns rose
and stars fell.

I wonder when it last stared
across the hot whisper of this wheatfield
watching someone watching.

Copyright: from Stargrazer (Hodder, 1997), © Robert Hull 1997, used by permission of the author

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Robert’s poems represent a wide range of themes and forms, including re-telling stories from his family history and even going back to ...

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