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Jeff Mitchell

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The Hunt

2012-05-13
By: Jeff Mitchell
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It draws nearer and yet
it fades from view.
The world is new
and old at once.
I brush the trees as I move along,
quickly and quietly;
I'm on the hunt.

I'm hunting it and yet I feel
as if it knows I'm close behind.
I catch a glimpse,
increase my pace
and realize that I cannot find
the trail. Then I
lean on a tree.

Quietly, I wonder if
I'll find the trail or it again.
Or if they will remember when
I don't return.
I move once more towards the sun
between the trees and dew and things
but then I stop.

I feel a whisper of a sort
behind me,
within me;
to turn around and face the world
as I am.
I turn and see it standing there
and then I shake.

On its four legs, it comes to me
like night and day
in the strangest way
and then it sits down at my side
calmly and quietly.

I lowered myself slowly that day
and sat with it.
And here I shall stay.

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