You Have Seen
When the blaster’s gun stretches the deer
in the lichen, breath and blood flows
out the life of him.
Nod, wind of old,
you have seen this kind of thing before:
hunter and hunted
moving from the heights
to the forest’s green eyes,
moving up to the rocks
from the beds of streams.
The tumult and the carnage you have seen
breaking volubly among the stones
and pines (and the dead are always here,
in shade and form move down
the rays of sun, the forest’s scream,
and from the bedrock carry water to the trees).
You have seen you have seen
the blood and the barrel’s gleam
and the bodies starve when snow blows free,
mother with glassy eyes
father with foaming jaw.