Everglade
Hunters
The
hounds of the Everglades
cut through the silence, joyously
chasing the moments delight
of gator or phantom in full-throated
chorus that sliced through the mist
swathe with wails in the night.
The
sounds in the distance,
distended notes risen, fell
in communal expression as one,
riding the wind to spread a concerto
of hounds hunting shadows,
enthralled by the run.
Sometimes
in the evening
I still hear them wailing,
it carries me back to that mystical place.
Again, I'm held captive
by sounds of the hunters,
still caught in their frolicking chase.
© 1997
Mary Lowry
