Lioness, outside The Garden
Lioness, outside The Garden Not all is lost - my lion walks loyal beside us. She was where I lay my head under the low stars, in the uncomplicated, verdant heart of living; where ground-wings opened to pink and perfume ever-present. He called her Ariel. I call her Ari. She carries the star-thrum energy of earth newly created; all fire eyes and focus, yellow allegiance, claws on instinct. Whereas I - I can't stop thinking. I leave our tent; bark and stem like praying hands and rest on her sand-coloured fur - She is still the same; four-legged land of the horizon, muscles of vine and forehead of moss, a head that moves like water around a river bend - a moving, prowling garden. No, not all is lost. LJ Ireton, 2024
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