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Brittle leaves crack with the promise of life
in the paw of a Beast I’ve tracked for some time.
We have long since mastered the dance of the hunt,
I was sure of the kill like I was sure of the cut.
I had met this Beast just once before
when I thought I’d lost the path of its paw.
On the bank of a river clothed in a thicket shawl
lay the Beast, its limbs collapsed in a sprawl.
Were I to help this Beast, my steadfast foe?
Why dredge floods in fated flow?
Shall I pervert the way of water for you then,
my Beast I have hunted since time began?
River rocks chart the course of your blood,
though you looked more Man than Beast in the mud.
Could paws be hands if vultures were doves?
Could I ever dance this pas de deux as one?
My Beast, I licked your wounds to scars.
When our eyes met an understanding passed;
we needed each other if we needed at all,
this was the dance, the tao of the thrall
Written by Adele Asosk
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