Prayer
Somewhere across the great plains of the world,
this antelope is galloping away.
He runs, and has been running for all time;
and many a predator has tried its hand
at landing claws in that elusive hide.
They seem to pass straight through and meet in prayer,
the paws that clap together in his wake.
Those killers are reduced to cats, brought low.
We stand apart, and leave that prize alone,
though he tempts us, he delights us on those limbs
that look as though—one snap—they’d let him down.
But this would end in languor… We could turn
the planet into one almighty snare
and drive a silver girder through his side;
but all our lusts would immolate, our drives
be neutralised with him—the God of Prey.