Close trees on either side admonished them
Khazemil's fur rose lightly on his spine
"We run," said Merrasir, "beyond rokhem;
We trace a bold and unforgiving line!
Somewhere in all this world must be a sign,
A path of good to light our paws along
Without a haze of pollen hiding wrong."
And pulling Khazemil to follow on
The dog with just a glance said all the more
The eyes, the eyes! A fallen injured fawn
The burning eyes which words would not restore
Between them yet an ever open door
A mile of barren heathland under sped
Again, beneath the blur of glinting red
Ah, Khazemil, without him, what to eat?
What laughing foreign grass to stay the pangs
Sardonic, leering, lying shades of wheat
Fly on, perhaps distraction from the fangs
Perhaps escaping where the hook-vine hangs
A stumble, yes? The needles in his throat
Cut through the perspiration in his coat
"Hold on!" spat Khazemil before he fell
"An image in my mind has found its twin!
So vivid, as you oft described so well
Those melancholy oaks with mossy skin —
Still skeletons, as long as it has been."
"Your memory is good; I led us here
Because the path from death to life is near."
The village of the dogs was close ahead
The moon, though waning, high and bright above
But stepping with an unaccustomed dread
Khazemil's spirit fluttered, diving dove
That hungry darkness masquerading love
At every ruined home another trial
A snarl to hide the intimated smile
Tall rocks and woven twigs composed the walls
At well-planned intervals was taisir wrought
A blue-white metal from the waterfalls
So closely, vainly kept and dearly bought
That in a sudden, disconsolate thought
They realized destruction so complete
What should be stolen still adorned the street
"Oh Merrasir, the day is overspent!
If food has kept in any house you know
Then lead us by the life-abiding scent
Or by the lack thereof, we both shall slow,
And water-less, both feed a lucky crow."
"You speak again on instinct, far too fast;
Among my fallen kindred, no repast."
❦