A procession of white heads left by him arrow-pierced;
Red vestment on a fawn’s back.

For years that cruciform huntsman,
O torment-mouthed man, sleeps.

Still his leopard’s eye glints ruby.

To the feeble houses of dawn’s fingers his string,
Blind river, comes taut.

Basking in the ire the great cat’s maul.

— Josephine Capistrano can be found on Twitter. She has additional writing on her blog.

Posted in