dearest fellow huntress

we persue the same quarry
– that most elusive and treacherous of prey –

armed only with:
* open hands *
and, the
* open hearts *
from which our words spill inconsolably and incontinentally

i wonder if soon the day will come,
when we will perforce retire forever from this game
wearied beyond measure – hope turned finally to bitter ashes
– on our parched tongues –

become olive farmers instead,
perhaps husbanding neighbouring groves
on some clement south facing slope – some serendipitous sunny somewhere:
* back to the mountains *
* face to the open ocean *
with the only connection left us (to these painfully real, and more painfully virtual, worlds):
* the narrow winding road *

till then,
it is good to know
that i’m not alone here
* out on the savannah *

it’s good to know
that there are others know
* the timeless nobility *
* the utter necessity *
of this searingly scary, seemingly silly superceding sublime, supremely self-sacrificial, sacred (so sacred…) safari

i remain yours,
in heartfelt appreciation
stefan