thewaitingone

In your many-feathered splendor
my eyes surrendered.
I ceased hunting that instant.
You said I smelled of woodsmoke
and the copper tangof blood.
You wouldn't let me hold you anymore.
The same scents that made you
lock around my waist and dig your nails
into my shoulders
now stung your eyes.
I brought you the things I found.
Stars.
Sounds.
Echoes of old dreams.
I told you tales of things seen
on the trail.
You stopped listening.
You didn't want the wild thing
I had always been
I then scrubbed the smells
from my skin and hair.
The dew from the dawn in our yard
would do the trick.
I came back to your tent
to lie with you again,
but you wouldn't let me
inside.
You said you didn't know my scent
and didn't want it
on you.
You sen me awar from
your fire.
Another came in from
the shadows.
I tried to sing to you again
and make you remember my face.
My song just passed
through the trees
barely touching the flames or
whispering the smoke.
Your ears shut.
Your back turned.
To you, I had been
dust in the ground
for a long time.
I still walk.
I forget old trails.
My hunting is clumsy
with disuse.
I can't remember
Where you had me
bury my knife.
Now the dark is
melting onto the forest.
Soon, the cold will come.
I am hungry and
I need to rest, but
I can't see any fires tonight.