The Hunters

By Art Elser

the setting sun has lost its heat
the hot wind slowly eases
and the sky low in the east
has a spreading magenta stain
I look from the fluted arrowhead
in my hand across the valley
to a herd of three dozen bison
scattered across tawny hills
long ago hunters stood here
looked across the shadowed
valley to a brown river of bison
raised their voices and spears
and chanted to the bison spirit
asking for a morning hunt that
would end their winter hunger
many years later the hunters
would follow the setting sun
and flowing bison to a valley
where the dark settles early

Categories: Issue 4, Poetry | Leave a comment

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