It had taken him a long time to arrive here. Not just losing the suit, And lighting out along the highways. This was a place that one truly Had to arrive to - Whole and complete. It was a not a place one Simply went. Black powder, flints, cotton swabs: A ritual he knew all too well. Satisfied, he stood from the chair And entered into the night air. The shellac of frost betrayed each footfall; October moonlight subtle as searchlights Upon a quest that ended Nearly before it began. From the Porch He tossed Apples and sugar cubes; Amazed at how little it took to overcome the hunger Of the timid. Flashing white tail and antler The creature of grace and strength Danced back into the darkness How often had such beauty come his way Taking him so totally unprepared? So often returning to the shadows? He would take no prey tonight. He had collected what he came for: A scene of reverence and joy Etched on his heart; Canada looming over the ridge from this borrowed cabin That he longed to call "home" Without shame, he returned the unspent shells To the kitchen drawer and un-shouldered his burden. The fired stove sprang to life As he began the pancakes, Stared down At forty years of empty hands And wept.