Treeline

Scan the edges
of the forest
with eyes that have seen
what cannot be seen;
the places where stone walls
once stood exposed as prey.

Here the hawk is always ready
to sink talons deeply
into the fleshy parts of the body
before gliding away.

I am not a hunter in November’s light at dawn.
Nor do I stand at the edge of these fields waiting
for the doe to step from her hiding place
so that I might take her
with the force of a weapon--
knock her down from her upright grace,
spill her heart and liver
onto the cold, wet ground
for the pleasure
of placing her warm flesh
in my mouth.

I am not innocent.
I too, have sinned,
but it is not in my nature
to want that much power
over God.

I know my place is within
the treeline, invisible
to those who want too much,
with my nose to the wind,
and my ear turned to the sounds
of life and death.