the gatherer, hunted
by Wm. Rike on February 13, 2007
Waking, I rise from my earthen bed,
my dayskin sloughing the dirt of sleep.
Grass blades tremble, and I sense you in the hedgerows,
returning from your circlings, and I have you
in mind, in the hard light of out-there’s bareness,
your blunt teeth glinting, your bowstring drawn.
My breasts are taut clouds, swollen
with a promise of rain and arrows,
my soft belly bared, anticipating
the homecoming of our hunger.
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