Fox o’ Nine

It’s a fine tail

  a nine tail.

  The Path of Wind,

The Mark of Flame.

Equal in length,

  a cutting edge.

First flash, then crack.

Borne of mischief.

Each tail a deed,

Each deed a story.

On yours it be told;

Your flesh the canvas,

  blood now ink.

Wet with life

The tails weigh heavy

Pulled back…for another strike?

They retreat

  a slight breeze

    marking the departure.