November 1, 2010

Taunted by the waning day’s soft glow

And shadows’  soothing calls that bid him stay,

The killer,  knowing he must not obey,

Keeps his pace and tracks a fleeting foe;

But stalking merely yields a timid doe

With wary feet,  yet one the man can slay,

For he alone can kill from far away

With clever hands that work the stubborn bow.

The hunter gulps the food that he has slain

And sighs at a distant eagle’s glide

Of graceful curls from off a mountain shelf;

Then turns to cross the endless,  unknown  plain

With just the eager weapon as a guide:

The creature he is hunting is himself.

–from  “Sonnets to the Hunter”   1990

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