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This poem is taken from PN Review 15, Volume 7 Number 1, September - October 1980.

The First Away Graham Fawcett

Caught basking, by a tread too near, the snare was
not being in the grass. Ventriloquist,
the slither of a belly faked the breeze
it got mistaken for, a trompe l'oreille

shown up by sheer length racing, and a weight
as grounded and continuous as a rope
pulling, distinctly, through the undergrowth.
One glimpse is proof: the skin that shines like fish
...


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