panther
The light
(at the speed of light)
is too subtle,
too direct
too slow;
it pools in paisley,
labyrinthine,
iridescent puddles, lost;
or glances off the grain
of her impenetrable coat
the panther,
she flows
hunched shoulders
through
So very black
ink sleek jet
an absence
even before a presence
(sound lags obediently behind)
she doesn't exist
until eyes and
irretractable claws
sink in
by Adrian Hoad-Reddick