Look over your shoulder for the hustle of words.

Saturday, October 20, 2007

The Hunter's Wife

Cords of wind erase his fits
of movement from the hills.
The hunter is untied,
like a careless knot.
Her purchases of bread and cheese
await his scrubbed, pocked
lead-weight fists.

The milk-jug - empty.
The paper-wrapped fish -
hastily thrown to the dogs.

She will not bother to oil or
wrap his axe in rags.

Let it rust,
let it rust.

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