Sunday, March 22, 2009

Trial By Fire / Tigers and Hunters


what oaths have been sworn, what
twinning of thought
could have led to such comfort, such
easy grace you now possess--
still, curled and clenched as a fist
a salvaged pearl in each tight palm

listen to me! your sleep
is grief and breathing even
an affront

you sense the descent
as dead anger needles
yellow and fall
to pin fluttery fly-by-nights
in a welter of ether

whir of disturbance
to mar your
blur of dreams and wings

such is capture, such is cure
each motive unpure
for the purpose of
loosing in you
a howl so winter-white, in-
sightful in its need, im-
prisoned by sleep's frost
of thoughts both delicate and untrue

to awaken you?

my fury, like the sky, imparts
a thousand falling stars--
to catch
or watch emblazon
vast expanse

a world wooed by fire
blackens through misuse

until I learn, my darling
we will burn



are lovers, at first.
The battle still game.

The rifle may jam.
The Hunter survive
stiletto swipe to face,

There is always hope then.
That one may simply
lie still and let the other
lope off.

But what if the aiming
of that rifle, those claws,
is too stirring
to resist.

If the memory of that
gun, and that click,
trigger the sickness
of last week's miss;
the claws--the kiss
once transfigured.

If either Beast will
NOT lie down. And paws
scrape metal, or pavement,
or dirt, and the jaw is
a weapon, the snarl
of a curse, and haunches
tense at each small sound.

And then eyes lock, each
split upswept--
and jungle cries only
with keeper
and kept.

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