Hunger Knows Caution
The forest was so still and my heart calm.
The frogs in the pond croak welcoming in the morning air.
A fog sweet, wet, hazy-grey blankets us cloaking my spotted hide,
muting the mornings’ echo.
Though mother has left, she, dearest Hunger has not.
Deep in my entrails, the two-legged hunters so desire;
she, Hunger stirs, twisting a preemptive knife of warning.
Only small buds rise on my head where antlers will be by fall.
Death waits breathless on the breeze.
Hunger, dearest Hunger
knows Death.
Father was lost to Death on a bright fall morn.
My ears turn, a branch crumbles beneath the weight of ...
Hunger knows Caution and tosses her head within my tender hide.
My fur rises at her discomfort. She is not satisfied.
Yet, I would flee, holding her close to my heart.
I leap away from the clearing over a fallen log
shaped like a bobcats tail curling.
The forest of conifers is dense and deep.
The weak morning sun does not enter and Hunger approves of the privacy.
Sometimes, I wonder, as I eat the sweet stalks of wild onions
without mother or father; would I be here in this majesty,
without my dearest, without Hunger.
Would the hunter hunt me without his Hunger?
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