When the blood spatters freeze
and there’s little time left to shoot.
When the clouds are very dark
and only an inch is available
of clear sky on the horizon.
Right on the horizon.
And while the sun approaches the setting point
it bursts out from under the smothering gray-
a wrestler’s faint, a wrestler’s shoot.
And for a moment the entire forest
is bathed in the most brilliant golden
but very temporary light.
And then it goes dark -
resolutely, but fading, crawling slowly
like cancerous death.
Not what I’m hoping to deal.
That will be different-
and soon.
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