Elephant

A young bull: anatomy of engines, fan-belts in skin, a driven and perfect thirst;

five tonnes of coolant fuelled by miles of eucalyptus, red earth and cloud-burst,

and yet so slow and silent it can stand three yards from man and be What elephant?

Take man away, it smells of ivory and mortality. Leave only the traction time made, elephants like rooms moving fastidiously up the eastern horizon,

defining heat on the edge of hills, appearing to go nowhere yet converging from somewhere to define somewhere.

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