By Pavel Chichikov
The bodies of the deer slid down
On the ivory-footed snow
And the hunters called out ownership
Chaw-cheeked, loping dogs came after
Broad of skull with yellow eyes
To hold down quarry if it moved
Wounded but not killed were some
Who wobbled up and slid away –
But there was blood, red scholar's ink
For dogs to lick and grumble on –
Tracker's signs:
A spleen, a heart, a lung.
But none were killed, they all got up
With running dogs right after them –
The deer still lived with bullet wounds
As we will live beneath His feet –
So many wounds to bleed for Him –
The hunters of the quarry calling: 'Mine!'
(Click here to follow Pavel's ongoing epic poem “The Shoulder of the Sun.” You may visit Pavel's website at http://www.greyowlpress.com.)
