I follow a shadow through the hill side
It leaps when I move forward
waits when I lose my nerve
My body stumbles after it
my hands ache with wanting to hold
Every step feels like a wager
every glance a plea
The world wraps itself around one shape
half seen half believed
a promise stretched across the distance
At times I think it's coming for me
measuring my resolve
As though the capture would undo the chase
as though I were the one being hunted
What hunger pulls me this far
Is it triumph I long for
or the sweetness of loss
the strange fullness of an empty palm
The field finally closes
The shape dissolves into stillness
I walk home with no prize to show
yet everything changed
The chase beats on inside me
Desire holds heavier on me
than any trophy could ever weigh
About the Creator
Tim Carmichael
Tim is an Appalachian poet and cookbook author. He writes about rural life, family, and the places he grew up around. His poetry and essays have appeared in Bloodroot and Coal Dust, his latest book.
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Violence Begets
"Any last words, cowboy?" "None you'd understand, sodbuster." "Funny. That's Marshall Sodbuster to you. But I meant some last nugget that would help us in the adjudication of the myriad offenses counted against you and your gang. I wasn't asking for penitence."
By Adam Diehl5 days ago in Fiction
Comments (2)
Experience remains regardless the result. Well-wrought!
The chase is the thing! Well done