A young man.
A sleepless dreamer
caught up in the throes of his
own thoughts once again,
can’t get it off his mind.
He was learned well about
it through school, but
still he cannot understand
why it eludes him so.
Every time the hunt seems
to be over, it sparks
to life yet again as the
goal of the chase flits
off into the distance,
the hunter
caught in his own traps.

They latch on tight,
and for every one he
removes, he swears
under his dry breath
he will stop using
traps to capture
his prize.
Yet he picks more
pieces of his own
flesh out from
the bindings,
every time he
finally thinks he
got ahead of
the game.
‘But this one…
this one is
different.’
Repeated,
comfortingly
his mantra,
whatever it is
it always seems
more right than the last.

He realizes this.
But this time
he’s serious.
The hunt came
to him.
That’s never happened
before.
And that’s exciting.
After giving up on it
a few short months,
the smell of the
forests, animals, and
sweat were washed away.
He seemed a new person,
to this, his ultimate goal.

The roles were reversed.
He could feel his prize
draw closer
with every day.
Then, it finally came.
His patience had paid off.
There it was, the most beautiful
animal he’d ever bin in the
presence of.
It was as though the fact he
was even near it was a reward.
It’s scent was intoxicating.
Nothing could compare to this moment.
He racked his mind, trying to draw
some familiarity to this feeling,
but he found none.
His only movement in his shocked
state was a slow one.
He extended his open hand, as
though he hoped it would be taken
with gently clasped fingers.
His arm was there for what felt like years.
The feeling of accomplishment like
he’d never known could exist.

The air around him quieted.
His strifes and delights alike
were on the other end of the universe.
He could barely focus on his
outstretched extremity.
He knew what was within his reach.
His eyes wide, he could but
move his hand down the
top of the head,
along the outline of the neck.
His fingers ran through the long
hairs, much like he had in fields
of soft grass when he
was so much more a child.
So caught up in the moment,
it took him a few more
to realize it had ended,
prize retreating from his reach.
He moved slowly, then quickly,
the hunted continually moving
away from his grasp.
He cooed, called, yelled,
panicked,and wept.
Nothing brought the
marvellous beast within in his reach.

Yet it did not leave his sight.
He ran from it in frustration,
yet it was there every time he’d
turn his head.
He pretended to ignore it.
Still, it persisted. Eyes,
not on him, but the sky.
Always the sky.
Always within sight.
As if pointing him towards
something greater.

He would do other things, become
preoccupied with trivial pursuits,
but it was there, looking to the horizon,
And all the young man could do was wonder;
What it was looking towards,
When, if ever, it would return within reach,
and
Where it was going to be when it eventually left.
For that is where he would find peace.
And that is where he would go.