Monday, July 29, 2019

The Lynx and the Hare


The lynx knows exactly what it is,
inhabits deep north woods snow,
some place that maps can’t find,
on a hunting foray
for snowshoe hare,
no plotting, merely instinct,
leaving transitive prints
in white wilderness pavements. 

What’s in store is bound to happen,
the hare pawing away at snow
to get at grass shoots,
the lynx stalking
where long shadows take their cue
from the last of the freezing sun,
no time wasted, no excuses,
no test run in the mind,
merely a leap,
a grasp of furry haunches,
a squeeze of talons,
as if to make the point
of predator to prey.

No human lives here.
The balance is immaculately maintained.
I can tell the story
but not as a requirement.


BIO: John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident. Recently published in That, Muse, Poetry East and North Dakota Quarterly with work upcoming in Haight-Ashbury Literary Journal, Thin Air, Dalhousie Review and the Dunes Review.   

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