A wind rustled in the trees
A flock soared above the skies
All was peaceful, all was calm—
But then something lurks in the shadows; peaceful no more.

For there it is: danger a-prowl
The deadliest animal, the most terrible thing
But it’s no lion, it’s no wolf
It is mankind alone.

The hunter sharpens his gaze, shifts his gun
A fawn is nearby, painfully innocent
Illegal, illegal, the subconscious whispers, stop, stop, stop!
But the hunter does not pause, for ignorance is bliss.

The conscience gnaws, the heart grows heavy
But still he aims—now, now! Let the bullet sink!
The shortest second, the briefest blink:
The hunter hesitates.

He stares at the fawn, oblivious to him
(Illegal, illegal! Stop, stop, stop!)
He stares and stares and stares—what has he become?
The hunter steps back; he lowers his gun.

Everlasting momentum continues,

Spiraling out of control.

No thought for results, it projects.

figure in the distance.

Brakes.



Tender loving figure, teaching

Young to live.

    -  Pause

Heightened senses momentarily detect,

The Impending danger.

Manufactured oculus,

The last to witness.

Breaks.

I am sorry that I scared you, Sir
It was not my intent
I'm just looking for my family, Sir
I do not know where they went
Have you seen my family, Sir?
Do you know where they are?
I am just a young pup, Sir
On my own I won't get far
What is that you're holding, Sir?
Can it help me find my parents?
I don't want to hurt you, Sir
Have you no forbearance?
What about my brother, Sir?
And the way we used to dance?
I could not fight you, Sir
I never stood a chance
I do not understand, Sir
I am but an errant youth
Why would you do this, Sir?
Please tell me the truth
How was I to know it, Sir?
That I had gone too far?
I can't see the borders, Sir
I don't know where they are
I would never hurt you, Sir
Why are you still lying?
My young life is now fading, Sir
And now I lay here dying
But I can't help but wonder, Sir
What did I possibly do wrong?
You came into my home, Sir
Somewhere you did not belong
I can see my mother, Sir
She is in the sky up ahead
I thought about staying, Sir
But I think I'll go instead
I'm sorry that I scared you, Sir
It was not my intent
But now I know the secret, Sir
You do know where they went

Just beneath the road insensate,
in the little creek that crawls through town,
the rains brought him.
Iron-blue, patient, slender, high sits his head –
a lance, now raised – now half-tilt as he sights his prey – raised again
as a drifting leaf disrupts his aim.
Upstream he prowls, that his prey sees
him not.
He stalks with long, slow strides, his legs thin and
graceful not to disturb the quiet current of the water and
give himself away to senseless quarry. Few call him spindly,
I imagine. Not I.
By the shore, fish-bones, whole
but for the flesh,
sink into the mud.
A thoughtless dart, a flash, a writhing
beast falls still on his speartip.
What am I, then, that
he flies when I draw close?

Shoot the moon down with your double barrel gun
it will look divine mounted above your fireplace
you want the light to yourself so badly
that you'd steal the tides from the sea
you try to catch each falling star
no matter what craters they leave

Just down by the lights
at brokenland
there is a small patch of wilderness and a park,
where three cats roam.

The first is white with big splotches of grey
as if it built its camouflage
betting last winter would never end
now an easy spot amongst the hill of green.

The second was a dark grey
the color of the shade under a pine tree
on a partly sunny day
or a storm cloud ready to light up the sky.

The third was black head to toe,
body slim like that of a dancer,
and eyes of bright amber that shined like searchlights
even with a sky full of clouds.

The first I saw on high alert
nose up high, ears pointed, standing tall
a dog down the hill of unkempt grass
it’s owner leashed and in tow.

The second I saw on the hunt,
weaving in and out of wildflowers
leaping and pouncing gracefully,
steadily and quickly traversing the hillside.

The third I saw leisurely sitting by the road,
legs folded underneath it on a rotting log
watching traffic like a king on its throne
yet in seeming awe of its steady flow.

I have seen each cat only once
always when I am moving boxes to the new house
and I wonder if they have an owner
among the white row houses off Little Patuxent.

Darkness
Can never swallow light
But it can swallow
Your heart...

So keep your passion
Burning
coz darkness is just at the corner
Lurking
  Waiting
For the right prey it will be
Hunting.