NaPoWriMo #17

I wrote this poem yesterday, as I realized I have just over a week to finish another poem-project.  Time to get moving on it.


the stretch of the bow
my fingers taut      tensed in thirst
scanning the horizon
he lacks stealth    lumbering
through the wood
reddish-brown mare glistening      panting
reined in       slowing fast
he is looking without seeing

I cock the arrow-point to the spot
just so
his heaving breast tempting
not yet, not yet

I make no sound
let it go    flying
perfect strike    he falls from the horse
hits the earth lacking grace
the thud    a cry out     a moment

the mare stares about
my finger pressed to lips
moving towards

my shadow falls above him
kneeling     dipping
raw iron taste of his blood in my mouth

he is mine.

© 2015 by Robin A. Sams


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