Brian the Still-Hunter by Margaret Atwood
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Dream 2: Brian the Still-Hunter

The man I saw in the forest
Used to come to our house
Every morning, never said anything;
I learned from the neighbours later
He once tried to cut his throat.

I found him at the end of the path
Sitting on a fallen tree
Cleaning his gun.

There was no wind;
Around us the leaves rustled.

He said to me:
I kill because I have to
But every time I aim,
I feel my skin grow fur,
My head heavy with antlers

And during the  s t r e t c h e d  instant
The bullet glides on its thread of speed,
My soul runs innocent as hooves.

Is God just to his creatures?

I die more often than many.

He looked up and I saw
The white scar made
By the hunting knife
Around his neck.

When I woke
I remembered:
He has been gone
Twenty years
And not heard from.

(c) Margaret Atwood

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