The Hunt

Imagine you're in the woods

in the second week of deer

season

           sitting, standing ten

yards from a stream 

rippling over rocks, around

sandbars, under fallen trees,

the hemlocks holding snow,

the leaves on the ground 

nearly covered,

                        the air brittle

winter cold and a deer appears

and for a moment don't know

if you're a hunter 

                            as it walks

across the water

                         and disappears.

-Byron Hoot