it is he
who waits
silent on forest edge –
twitch of muscle
under dapple tree light,
horns curved
like the sickle moon.
there is no seeing him until
on an exhale he lowers his head,
looks at you as though
he sees the galaxies within,
shifts his weight to the other hoof
and under his dark hide
marked with stars
the pulse of the forest ripples.
don’t look away –
lower your head in supplication
burn or be burned with the love
of all that is holy
for it is he
who barks the forest moon above the trees
he walks the paths of the night.
him
5 responses to “him”
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oh this is wonderful, and I miss ‘him’ dearly
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thank you jane. widerness misses you too.
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“under his dark hide marked with stars the pulse of the forest ripples.” Your writing is so beautiful! I love this poem so much! I love “burn or be burned with the love of all that is holy” and that he barks the moon above the trees. Well. Obviously, I loved every line. Smiles.
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Thank you so much. 🦋💚🦋
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I couldn’t tell if “he” was internal paramour, demon lover, stag or Cernunnos–Celtic god of the green wood–and that’s what makes the poem work so wonderfully. It sings All of It and Yes. – Brendan
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