Self-Portrait as the Last Wounded Stag
I’m walking into the quickening blizzard as if into a hunter’s dream—the flint arrow through my chest keener than earthly desire. Wherever I wentteeth followed me, relentless as the shadow of the doe-eyed boy I thoughtI couldn’t live without. Long ago, love made all gestures of floweringpossible on earth. Now I’m tired of livingon the …