Điều không hay thường đến – Sydney Lea

Sydney Lea
______________
THE WRONG WAY WILL HAUNT YOU
(Shouting a hound)
Spittle beads as ice along
her jaw on this last winter day. And when I lift her, all her bones are loose and light as sprigs of hay.
For years her wail has cut the woods
in parts, familiar. Host of hares
have glanced behind as she ploughed on and pushed them to me unawares.
Now her muzzle skims the earth as if she breathed a far dim scent, and yet she holds her tracks to suit my final, difficult intent.
For years with gun in hand I sensed her circle shrinking to my point. How odd that ever I should be
the center to that whirling hunt.
74 American Poetry