Beetlebung and Kettlehole--April Poems

The Ends of Things

I’ve been at this before.
I’ve shifted the scene
many times over,
a tiger after the hunt,
after spotting the prey,
sneaking close, sprinting
then pulling apart with claws.
Since I’ve had my fill, I’ll cover
the carcass with dead leaves
to return to it, if need be,
so I can lie in the sun
where the field quivers in haze
and a flock of vultures circle above.
I’ll wait for the next start
and open my eyes to new dreams
to watch a savage spirit dance,
telling human tales in another realm.