Hunter’s Round

No more than the bird with piercing voice
do you stake my heart, the dumb
drum that feels its own
concentric pain, no more

Then the bird with piercing voice
stakes a wider, colder claim
than yours, to which I’m bound
but no more than the bird

With piercing voice I stake your name
in night, stalk the pulse of memory
no more then the bird with piercing voice
unfolds in me its blind and final wings