When I was young,
I sought her
because of her wonder,
that was all that mattered.
When I grew older,
I hunted her
for beauty’s sake,
wanting it for myself.
As a man,
I wanted her
for what she could offer me,
a legend of my own,
immortality perhaps.
I hardly knew what to do,
when I finally caught up
with her, one day at sunset
drinking from a cool, clear pool
in the heart of The Deepwoods.
We wrestled for a time,
but eventually,
I broke her,
tying her to an ancient elm,
with silver rope,
as legend proscribed.
She told me all
the secrets of her kind.
When she was done,
I ground her horn
into my satchel
and drained her blood
into my flask,
through all of which,
she was alive
to preserve potency,
just as I had read
in the ancient texts.
When I emerged
out of The Deepwoods,
I told no one of my kill
and no one laughed
when I quit the hunt,
putting away childish things.
I prospered much from that day,
in my mixing and dealings.
But as an old man,
I see her now in my dreams,
beckoning for me
to join her in the pool,
a dark glint in her eyes.
I wonder what
she wants from me.
I see her sometimes,
even when I am awake,
a brilliant white streak
at the edge of my vision…
But I am too old to be hunted,
aren’t I?