Monday, June 26, 2017

The Hunter, the dark woods, & the dénouement

Ela Zubrowska : color is on flowers

And so your enemy 
stalks you. 

You thirst, you 
stumble; wonder if this heavy 
quilt of night will suffocate or free;

if wilderness conspires 
to make you know how small 
you truly are. Or how infinite. How 
frail. How alive. Ancient as this deer run.

So now become the seeker.
Turn into the hunter.

Turn around and charge after
what's chasing you down, run with
dark blades emerging from your fear

to stop in the air and turn the other way,
poised to strike as your strange new weapon.

And then when you
decide you're ready to die,
you'll see the bullet as it stops,

blooms, and pulses light, a song
pouring out from this meeting with 
your unseen power encircling you—and

here, in your near-death, you 
will find out who you really 

are. It can't be done
any other way.

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