Hunter

Oh, but a thought ago a baying hound had led him to a clearing in the sky. The stars tolled beyond the sombre clouds and on the frozen pond the forest sighed. He knelt, his arrows whetted by a tear, the fire he’d set, rising into night. Eternity approached, and in its sphere, a sudden passing bird eclipsed the light. He aimed and freed an arrow into dark. Then maelstroms, downy plumes, snow tainted red, the pity of the moon: he hit his mark. The hellward bird now tumbling overhead— past hunger, fear, dumbfoundedness and shame— an angel, angel falling into flame.