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THE TRACKER

A broken rock and a leaf turned up,
wrong pointing stick
and a bruised tree stem
marks the passage
of a careless man.

A footprint there in damp leaf-mould,
A man pissed here
and it's not very old,
the ground still warm
and the smell still pure,
and a man knelt here
of that I'm sure.

There, a cigarette butt
and an insect dead
against this tree
a man laid his head,
and a spider web broken
and that's a fact
a man went down
this animal track.

And the hunter of the hunters
smells blood in the wind
and the signs all mark
the presence of him,
their hearts beat faster
in the evening light
and the eyes of the hunter
glow strange in the night.

John A. Moller
Whiskey Two Company RNZIR

 

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