The Hunt

This is a fun little poem inspired by the hundreds of wolf spiders that inhabit my yard.

The Hunt

Patient, in the browning grass,

all is still, time made of glass.

My prey remains as still as i,

but a movement in the earth i spy.

Time shatters, the world narrows

to a half blurred circle going past like an arrow,

eight legs beat a tattoo on the ground,

all the watchers they scatter as they feel the sound.

Low to the the ground, i skid through the dust,

pounding legs threaten to break the earths crust.

wind through the grass blades, fly through the flowers,

the seconds are rubber, they stretch out to hours.

A wolf in the gravel, i race and i run,

my quarry is tiring, my chase almost done,

then finally i catch him, my vision stops spinning,

I'm through with today's "population thinning".

I remain the assassin of this waving green ocean,

my name is spider, natural selection in motion.