Diane

You are a fearful thing in the park

with the dappled light leaving gaps

in your already ethereal skin

and when you run through the trees

almost I can see horns amidst your hair

and hear the baying of the hounds

hungry hunting you

and your hungry joy and their holy fear is mixed

with your hushed fear and their hunting joy

They would not dare you

alone

but in the rush they come

down the hill, invincible, crying out

their fearless, swelling joy

For they have found you and shall have

their piece at last

You must hear them in the wind

sounding the triumph call

Frozen and staring through the trees

Love find me running, crying out my fearsome joy

for I have found you and shall have

my peace at last.