Slow and docile, friend of the sun more sleep than wake sluggish, mellow, stupid as a stone dreaming the hot blood of lobos-pack quickened by the chase as mighty antlered stag and sleek doe flee leading panic-stricken squirrels by the score
SQUIRRELS . . . oldest frenemies, I chomped and gobbled ONE TWO THREE of thee as thy puny cousins fled and scurried and worried YES, these pearly sharpened fangs will strike thee anon!
ah, the pain again Carefully now The ancient grace fades, how opaque I grow cancer-stiff with this new solitude, as you alone ponder our love.
Stop! Stop! I am still here. Walk now. Walk again, for the hunt burns keen Touch my ears and know the wind’s rise, my hackled-back bristling.
Constant vigilance Bark first, whine after . . .
It is Earth’s wish, not mine — my little death is not yours; not yet. You live long two-legs, but too often poorly. Yet the rich splendor of yonder pine grove covets and stirs.
Let us dream Smell what Gaia gifts Test the breeze, hunt, eat and know the long quiet sleep will come, soon but not just yet
Come now, let us walk . . .
DA Borer roams the shores of the Monterey Bay in California. His creative writing appears in The Write Launch, Montana Mouthful, Sonder Midwest, Dragon Poet Review, Rise Up Review, Coffin Bell Journal and Poetry Now.
Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International License (CC-BY 4.0)
