The Alan Sondheim Mail Archive

The Hunt

I was present at hunt's origin,
The swinging of the rope, the wild calls;
Time and again, I was a messenger,
But no one would believe me. Now, here,
Is the proof of the children in the wilderness.
And here, now, the birds crying over the dead.

I have been ceded the golden transmission,
And have made play to give this gift to you;
Receive it in good grace, and recompense
Of the dark world's suffering shall be
Your understanding in no other worlds to come.

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