Hunting Permit 
     

       How like the hunter,
       to steal along the stream,
       to spot the shape of heaven,
       through a dappled leafy screen,
       to follow from the shadows   
       ascendent sparkling skin -
       of ankle, shin, and thigh,
       above a polished pooling lens.

       How like the deer
       to pause, 
       to heed
       the warning of the wind --
       the pulsing blood 
       and angry shaft,
       rising from his fist --
       to part the leafy curtain 
       and match her eye with his.

       How like the law of bureaucrats
       to let the hunter aim and squeeze.

       How like the law of nature
       to find him down on bended knee.



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