The arrow made in the mark
Of the center lifted and
Loosened his skin. And so he
Stood, hearing it like many
Thrusting breaths driven to ground.
He abandoned the long light
Flight of arrows and the slow
Parabolas bows dream of
For the swifter song beyond
Flesh. Song of moments. The earth
Turned its molten balance.
He stood hearing it again:
The precise shudder the arrow
Sought and returned to, flaming.
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by Vicki Hearne, 2007
