Hunter

What was once the blue blue
skyline has paled to royal skin.

I want to call you, but it’s
just an option I can’t swallow.

Somehow splendor spilled across
the yard, yet I’m on the porch.

My feet tremble when I think of running
the fields again where hunters tread.

Is it fear, or anticipation of the violent
breakout my head has planned?

I am still a hunter and I still look for
the highs, hidden in pockets of discovery.

Are you warm inside, or will the cold
cripple you? I am pulsing, I’m alive.

Like I got on that plane, I’ll take the steps
to reclaiming the hunter I fell in love with.

Tussled, and crooked but perfect in the
design that everlasting hands molded.