For J.B.

                                  I thought death might at least spare her

                                  the parting from the place she loved the most -

                                  but there is nothing of the unlucky woman here

                                  other than the fox-spun rabbit

                                  I almost tread on in the coppice wood -

                                  a burst purse of organs, joints and blood,

                                  savaged indifferently .