Tracking the Deer

The swift shadows of the woods
fighting the white gas lantern,
Spooking spots of blood,
as we scatter along.
We trespass a creek
that has been stunted by mud.
Finally, we steal the deer
from the darkness,
blood steaming on his pelt.
You view his life in a stony pile
of blood: at last you see
where the arrow grates through,
and he sighs his last breath.