William Carlos Williams

The Hunter

In the flashes and black shadows 
of July
the days, locked in each other's arms, 
seem still 
so that squirrels and colored birds 
go about at ease over 
the branches and through the air. 

Where will a shoulder split or 
a forehead open and victory be? 

Both sides grow older.
And you may be sure 
not one leaf will lift itself 
from the ground 
and become fast to a twig again.

spoken = Ben Day