Hunter

The blow of the hunting horn
echos off the brittle walls
of a congested artery where soiled
blood makes a red sea with teardrops
flooding the boat. Beast in the wilds
baring fangs, elusive as faith
in the deep rough. A fresh killing
along the orange horizon begging
to be choreographed in technicolor
by Mutual of Omaha's Wild Kingdom
but it's not the prey he's after.
It's the point in the middle of the forest
lit up like a Manhattan Christmas
where your clothes come off and you
reach for the moon with your teeth
to suck all the sadness out of the night.