09-27-2013, 07:55 AM
Edit 1.
On sky of palimpsest, the sun marks out a lower arc of light
as days erased fold into crowns of silhouetted fractal fronds.
Grey smoking Wraiths, damp Autumn’s breath, enwrap the forest firm and tight.
Like widow’s rags of summer dead, black ravens croak and life responds.
A shiver tics along his flanks but holding still the boar inhales
to test the drift of cooling air. He knows his spoor will slip behind
when gentlest breeze blows in his eyes; in dimming light his vision fails
as atavistic senses rise to form a picture...clear, defined.
And here I stalk, on leaf-deep trail with cracking twigs and oozing loam.
I emanate the stench of man, my stifled breath a whistling blast.
Each foot fall on the drum-skin floor leaves signs of where I chose to roam;
my scent I paint on branch and stone, on briar thorn and bison grass.
This shotgun carried by my side will not this day be called to kill
for he has gone to where the air is his alone, and time lies still.
original
On sky of palimpsest, the sun marks out a lower arc of light
as days erased fold into crowns of silhouetted fractal fronds.
Grey smoking Wraiths, damp Autumn’s breath, enwraps the forest firm and tight.
Like widow’s rags of summer dead, black ravens croak and life responds.
A shiver tics along his flanks but holding still the boar inhales
to test the drift of cooling air. He knows his spoor will slip behind
when gentlest breeze blows in his eyes; in dimming light his vision fails
as atavistic senses rise to form a picture clear defined.
And here I stalk, on leaf deep trail with cracking twig and oozing loam.
I emanate the stench of man, my stifled breath a whistling blast.
Each foot fall on the drum-skin floor leaves signs of where I chose to roam;
my scent I paint on branch and stone, on briar thorn and bison grass.
This shotgun carried by my side will not this day be called to kill
for he has gone to where the air is his alone, and time lies still.
Bialowieza
Autumn 2013
On sky of palimpsest, the sun marks out a lower arc of light
as days erased fold into crowns of silhouetted fractal fronds.
Grey smoking Wraiths, damp Autumn’s breath, enwrap the forest firm and tight.
Like widow’s rags of summer dead, black ravens croak and life responds.
A shiver tics along his flanks but holding still the boar inhales
to test the drift of cooling air. He knows his spoor will slip behind
when gentlest breeze blows in his eyes; in dimming light his vision fails
as atavistic senses rise to form a picture...clear, defined.
And here I stalk, on leaf-deep trail with cracking twigs and oozing loam.
I emanate the stench of man, my stifled breath a whistling blast.
Each foot fall on the drum-skin floor leaves signs of where I chose to roam;
my scent I paint on branch and stone, on briar thorn and bison grass.
This shotgun carried by my side will not this day be called to kill
for he has gone to where the air is his alone, and time lies still.
original
On sky of palimpsest, the sun marks out a lower arc of light
as days erased fold into crowns of silhouetted fractal fronds.
Grey smoking Wraiths, damp Autumn’s breath, enwraps the forest firm and tight.
Like widow’s rags of summer dead, black ravens croak and life responds.
A shiver tics along his flanks but holding still the boar inhales
to test the drift of cooling air. He knows his spoor will slip behind
when gentlest breeze blows in his eyes; in dimming light his vision fails
as atavistic senses rise to form a picture clear defined.
And here I stalk, on leaf deep trail with cracking twig and oozing loam.
I emanate the stench of man, my stifled breath a whistling blast.
Each foot fall on the drum-skin floor leaves signs of where I chose to roam;
my scent I paint on branch and stone, on briar thorn and bison grass.
This shotgun carried by my side will not this day be called to kill
for he has gone to where the air is his alone, and time lies still.
Bialowieza
Autumn 2013