Photo by Mike Petrucci on Unsplash

The Trapper

I’ll peel the shirt from your back
to fill my belly.

Or the skin, rather.

I strive for painlessness —
this exchange of essence
I’ve arranged

realeasing a prayer of gratitude
for your very significant life

each time
my crunch of snowshoes
shearing the fresh crust

pulls into sight
a trap not snapped in vain.

When those iron teeth clutch
atoms alone

it requires a trained mind
to trust
to thank god from us both
that your splendor subsists
one day more.

And if I find you
glassy eyed by my hand

know it is with great reverence
that I convert your vitality
into meat, warmth,
life.

I cherish the wood-smoked,
simple-rhythmed, wide-skied
routine I’ve refuged in these many years.

The irony is not
lost on me
that your life is.