The Hunt rises, shy at first, she flashes a smile
bright and milky above the star light’s exile
shapes grow solid, fog turns to trees and hills
Isn’t this how the world gets its thrills?
spontaneous existence without a cause,
dazed and wedged between universal flaws
a snatch of the song under the skin of a lion
sparked by Morningstar in love with Orion.
Hunting desire stepping over dark river stones
lion’s pride hovering above grass blades and bones
eons have come, each one shallower than before
and I see, each one leaving more misery in store
The Hunt travels for eons without her Orion,
what’s her destiny between the fangs of a lion?
The polite answer is sadness and pain
in many dialects of morose and vain
pic by author