Speakers of the Wood

Hunting is a far worse crime than fishing

Because fish cannot write poems.

But I have wandered the mountains and the forests,

Waded through the rivers which guard Eden.

I have been where deer walk like men and speak like gods.

O how they plead!

To spare themselves from violence so foreign,

And how their pleas turn to demands

When they realize I’ve lost my way.

What was I to do?

Their voices raise in chorus

For the condemnation of my soul.

The crime is unforgivable.

So now I fish.

Because a fish cannot beg, or shout,

Or mutter curses or commune with gods.

The river babbles without promise or threat.

There are no fish in Eden;

A fish cannot write a poem.

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