The Hunter
The ends of the universe,
the ends of your life
are coiled in eternal self-pursuit.
He is at the center of you;
he is the imprint on your eyelids
when you close them,
when you dream.
You are chasing your own shadow;
pursuing like a broken arrow,
round and round,
you miss your mark.
Tell me this:
was there an earth to orbit
before there was a sun?
If you stood still,
would I see what you were
without him?
©2001 Elizabeth Hebert
back to poetry
|
