ursus maritimus
Her head low
and eyes
fixed on mine.
Loping from floe
to sea to dolerite
schist; crackling
on the lime
rich shore;
following stale
musk. Per shakes
my shoulder
and readies his
Ruger. ‘We should
leave’ he says
and I become
aware that we
are being
hunted…
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This entry was posted on December 9, 2017 by Will in Poem, poem of the day, Poetry, Will Vigar and tagged animal, bear watching, creative writing, hunt, norway, Poem, poem of the day, poems, poet, Poetry, polar bear, svalbard, wildlife, writing.Shortlink
https://wp.me/p7hxIP-mfArchives
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