my grandma told me he was a wolf,
the way he looked at his—
his eyes sawed into flesh
The wind blew
and grey hairs swayed
in unison with her hips;
their courting dance
I shivered.
the expert marksman knows
his target well,
knows its terror:
precipitates its very movement…
an act of tenderness
for now. I am quiet
I do not know
The straight course of the arrow
the doe blinks fearlessly
while its body spasms |