Why did the swans hiss that night?
He comes from the river, he comes from the lake
Why did the wind howl that night?
He heaves it down, he hauls it in
Why did the moon glow red that night?
He seeks her out, he hunts her down
Why did he carry a whip that night?
He spurs his horse, he beats his dog
Why did his boots shine that night?
He pricks her sides, he spills her blood
Why did he carry ropes that night?
He ties her hands, he binds her legs
Why did he have a sack that night?
He goes to the river, he goes to the lake
Iris Anne Lewis is published online and in print, most recently in Artemis, Black Bough Poetry and (forthcoming) in The High Window. She has also been placed in local and national competitions. She has recently founded the Cirencester Poetry Group. Twitter: @IrisAnneLewis