Monday, November 5, 2012

The Bloodless Choice

a morning incongruous
beneath the breaking egg
tranquility of stillness
masks in silent
my violent intentions

i step, dotting each eye
crossing each T
breathing shallow as spill
his, my motive

a snap to my left
i stop mid-step
to hair rising
portent to shiver

leaves shuffle in betrayal
my eyes slide to port

there, just below the rise
a fog of breath
the balloon
he cannot hide

the safety slides
in steel whisper
as ballerina sans pathos
i become

the trail leads up
this i know
i do not exist
this his hope

a hope
to find a place of rest
in the tall swamp brush
but knows
the dawn has found him
careless and tardy

will he drink from the pond
midnight frozen, after
the searchlight has
burned out
at end of day?

will he scrape the tree
in show of force?
rut her offering
before the ritual
of primal conquer?

or will he hang by his feet?
dripping his hope
into my sea of vanquish?

will his guts heap
for the ravenous wolf?
the thieving crow?
will she mourn his demise
or even wonder?

i feel his steps now
as his crown of iron thorns
comes into view

down the ridge
i hear the applauding crows
discuss my strategy

finger to the trigger
he lifts his glory
and breathes, all
alarms in denial

but my violence
on this November morn
is not sufficient
to fatten my arrogance

yesterday? yes
tomorrow? maybe
but today
i take not the king

more the victor, i've never felt
as i watch him disappear
while the crows cackle in mock
and the safety sighs