When did I become such a casual murderer in this wilderness where I am, at best, a tourist. 

In my own hands heartbeats and shudders go silent, life escaping between my pressed fingers like a mysterious vapor. 

Where do I find the strength to kill something so perfect and delicate, after just being introduced. 

What conceit allows this fumbling ape to harvest speckled jewels from the sky, whose final grace is to close their eyes as they die.

The lion can not love the gazelle in this way. 

2 thoughts on “Wingshot

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s