The Hunt Beyond the River

I came at dawn, where waters gleam,

the river breathing silver sleep.

Its song was neither loud nor dream—

but low, and long, and dark, and deep.

The hunt had led me to this shore,

my lantern dimmed, my hands unclaimed.

No footprints marked the sand before,

no voice called out the hunter’s name.

The current shimmered, slow and wide,

it whispered, Lay your burden down.

I knelt, and saw the other side—

the light that wore my shadow’s crown.

It was no realm of grief or flame,

no promised gate, no borrowed grace.

It was the same, yet not the same—

a mirror made of time and space.

The wind unbound the years I’d known,

the river folded night in dawn.

The chase was over—I was shown

that what I sought had never gone.

I loosed the lantern from my hand,

and watched it drift through veil and mist.

It flared once more, a final brand,

then vanished where the heavens kissed.

Still, through that hush, the light remained—

not mine to hold, not mine to keep.

The hunter’s heart, through loss unchained,

became the peace the river keeps.