The Wind

The wind bellows through branches and leaves,
Forcing them to move to its will.
I can feel it
In my bones.

The hunter's moon,
Burning its light into my eyes,
Illuminating my home
Through night-tinted windows.

It casts its soft ghost radiance,
Onto my skin,
Painting the walls,
Its gray waves crashing on my shore
From hundreds of thousands of miles away.

It flicks its sparks across my floor,
A bright white torch
Haloed with its glory.

It feels like a message,
A spotlight that can't be ignored.

The most colossal of the year,
Filling my retinas,
Engulfing
My night vision.

I am the predator,
And I can see
What's out there.

I watch it move,
And I track it,
Gently, as gracefully as I can.
I carry my weapons
Intently,
So that
When it's time to strike,
I'm ready.

Opportunity will never know
That I was even there.

I can feel you move
On the back of my neck,
Looking down on me like
A silent companion.

Your bright black eyes
Never blinking,
Constant,
Watchful.

You look through me,
And I merge
With my prey.

Cycles become one,
And the world is silent.

My steps move in the rhythm
Of what I pursue.

My breathing rides the wind,
And I melt into the atmosphere
Of all that surrounds me.

I am no longer
A man.
I am the mist,
Flowing through
Tall grass
And autumn wildflowers,
Into the forest,
A sanctuary.

I'm everywhere.
I've covered
The world.
Now all around—
What I'm pursuing.

There is no longer me,
—Only my presence.