Guard the Night

It is bear season and the hounds stalk the dark smell of bear, plundering the fertile night. The forest is muddled with fear and even my dreams are ripples of sleep scattered by the shouting dogs.

My son said they killed a bear this morning just across the river—three shots a bear with blue eyes he said and I could see it then, the bear strung up, belly slit open, red organs spilling from the black-cloaked body its sapphire eye glazed open and staring straight into mine.

There is no respite from the hounds and the lust that unleashes them. We will hunt everything down: if it is rare, or precious if its eyes burn with a fire we cannot claim– We will comb the night for her jewels We will scour the dark for her beauty just to hold some mystery in our hands.