Humid air comes rolling in,
hair-curling moisture,
fine dew upon my face,
inhaling the scents of
another world
a summer world
a world heavily pregnant
amidst dark forest floors.
I have walked this Way
every year
hunting for the hooded one
the hidden one
his name unnamable
save by midsummer trees.
Humidity makes me drowsy,
mind on the ground
under a stupor of heat
panting, licking cracked lips,
even the Shade is heavy–
then a voice on the wind!
his his his ... the hunted one now hunting
hunting hard for blood and bone
hunter down upon me
my skin to buckskin,
hand in hand, hoof in hoof,
penetrating from his darkness,
all knife stare and death kiss.
Humidity swelling,
I can hardly breathe
hardly move
for the weight of him
the weight of air
weight of the world
holding me here,
heaving doe
in mud and rotten leaves,
pressing down until
clouds burst forth with rain
all that weight
falling
piercing
plummeting
to the earth,
sky rent apart,
by lightning’s blind arrow,
hearts heave, earth growls,
wind blows back the dark endless hood
and I am his
heart his harvest,
soul his own.
