Máni, Hunted

Brother of the night,

I see you fleeing across the sky,

your silver chariot strained,

the wolves close at your heels.

The stars hold their breath

each time your wheel turns,

and even the trees lean upward,

their branches trembling with your haste.

What is it to be pursued forever?

To blaze and yet be bound to fear?

Your face gleams calm,

yet I know the shadow behind it—

the dread of jaws waiting at the end of time.

Máni, if I could,

I would loose an arrow

against the beast that follows.

But you are too high,

and the bow is too small,

and the hunt belongs to you alone.

Still, I lift my voice.

If the wolf swallows you at last,

let my cry ring with you in the dark.