Hunters

House of Heart

Yesterday I  heard the  hunters deep in the forest,  a shot , a thud, a rebel yell. In the wild there is a dead fawn. Its  grieving Doe  bedded nearby   her  eyes a crust  of grief.  We buried her baby under a tall pine tree, wound a broken bough with garlands of  wildflowers.

Last night in a dream they came.  The stench of their  scorn filled the air.  Running until my bare feet bled, they drew back their swords and pierced my heart,   buried me beneath the skins of dead animals.

This morning a sparrow struck my window, its mark formed a teardrop on the pane.  It’s grave is in the shade of the  Hydrangea.

The garden is  in full bloom,  peonies open wide  and  fruit spurs shoot forth  from the apple tree.  At the surface the earth thrives but  deep in shadows the hunters prey, life as insignificant as…

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