In autumn, through the trees and brush, a stag
pursues a doe, following close behind
as, seemingly indifferent, she attends
to her mysterious destinies. No twig
breaks as they glide past shallow ponds and down
along the well-worn trail that countless deer
have grooved into the mossy forest floor.
He breathes her scent that beckons and leads on.
Released from a concealed hunter’s bow,
an arrow passes cleanly through the prize,
which does not falter, flinch or hesitate
but shadows still the meek alluring doe.
The hunter, searching, finds the body whose
desire the shaft had rushed to consummate.
Latest posts by Jan Schreiber (see all)
- The Shaft - September 22, 2019
- Tensile Strength: Susan Spear’s Beyond All Bearing - October 10, 2018
- Short of Breath: Poems in a Narrow Compass - June 25, 2018