Some days my feet itch for the hunt,
my eyes dart wildly in search of your shadow,
my fingers twitch on the bowstrings.
Other days I wonder why
you must race before and I behind--
the silence paralyzes me as you graze, indifferent.
At nights, I used to conjure up
the thought of your pursuit and smile as I fled
but anymore I merely wonder if
I'd rather be hunted or just killed and dead.















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