sprint harts

hunter did you find what you were looking for
in the tangled paths of foxes
in the straight march of the hare

you followed those tracks for weeks
seeking a man and a rabbit
hoping to find absolution
the wry curve of an ear
the tumbling-sprinting hart

did you discover
that which you sought in the thorny grove
that which called you from your feast
from the table of your good wife
did you see at the end
the snow clean, the prints ended
the gentle impress of
feathers

o hunter, on whose wings
was your sore heart carried
that bruised organ
a mournful echo in the woods
a church of eyes to question in the gloaming

how far would you fall?

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