October 24, 2015

A: Where does your arrow point? Nowhere I presume. B: Everywhere the breeze can touch, so can my bow. From meadow grass to preaching leaves from fuzzy peach to morning dew skyward and past growing fulsome. A: But what do you stand for? On what if anything at all? B: For that focus that forms us. For trusting courage right now together. And on sand, so fine that only spirit remains awake and walking. A: Surely you sense the end approaching, utter nonsense your name that hollow void delaying, drowning, bored? B: Who more than I can make wolves tremble from fire aflight? The gods laugh with pride at my resolve to hunt meaning. I swim between islands and lay snares. The meat is charred but full of flavor.