martes pennanti aka fisher
an assassin, intent on waiting, while
listening, lying down above tongued feasts
from mountain ritual Moon, wax to wane
harvest silk to hackneyed shadow to light
all that the seasons in the forests
can find high to low tides
in spawn to death wash sounds
every ambulatory desperation
you can feel, even those you pray
keep away, when dark stretches
hungry too, for your thoughts and words...
why, you are here, prey to poem
skill, guile and talisman
wading moods
nutritive soul...
do you survive regards...
what stays
when your bones
are eaten of their flesh
and your skin tears
shred passing
as salt and sea
in the rain...
what do you need
to get to where
you might be
or were once
before, when
to know, wasn't
really passe...
run, rabbit run
from where you
are there hare, hair
of white before
the snow flies
my sense of scent is keen
but so are my eyes
this November's warm suckle
is light and color being parlor tricks
the nose king says
better to eat well when...
EJR ©
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