The heat around him filled with lines of grey intensity. My friend, the old Wolf, Cain came out to see me on my final day and licked my face. Growled at my friends again His eyes like wells of yellow gravity Somebody kept him in a small dim cell This cage is an improvement, obviously. But still, no pack. I know. His eyes: I fell. And howled, and Cain replied. One naked sound And I had never sung before: it burned Outside the Cage a vastness crossed the ground unlatching the horizon. And I turned. This month a grey tornado came, and raged and tore the earth, within sight of his cage.
I was looking forward to seeing him when I returned to the US at the end of the year, but Cain died unexpectedly in August 1997
1997 Tim Gadd
Photos by Dan Perry
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