Clearly, above the hubub today,
the hounds’ bays, piercing,
sustained, drown out all other
sounds, as if a dome
of fogged silence shuts out
all but the fierce barks, yelps,
howls and growling.
The hounds’ owner sits,
calmly, on a ridge, knowing
precisely where the search leads.
He has adopted the measured,
maintaining the disciplined process
of discovery, arrest, and conviction.
He pauses for a solemn look
into the disarray of the valley,
then nudges his charger’s reins
back to from where he came,
the mountain where eagles live;
he’ll consult with a hermit there,
who has forsaken all comforts
for the headstrong life of refusal.
The horseman will simply sit
to a cup of the hermit’s special blend,
and as he leaves they’ll exchange nods,
nothing more; enough is enough.