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the mystery of the hunt :: michael mcclure

by on November 21, 2016

It’s the mystery of the hunt that intrigues me,
              That drives us like lemmings, but cautiously—
The search for a bright square cloud—the scent of lemon verbena—
              Or to learn rules for the game the sea otters
                              Play in the surf.

              It is these small things—and the secret behind them
                              That fill the heart.
                  The pattern, the spirit, the fiery demon
                          That link them together
                  And pull their freedom into our senses,

          The smell of a shrub, a cloud, the action of animals

      —The rising, the exuberance, when the mystery is unveiled.
                          It is these small things

                That when brought into vision become an inferno.


From → poems

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