A weekly poem composed by a writer from Cobourg or nearby.
I hunt at dawn as my ancestors have done. Not on open plains or crouched behind shrubbery. Nobody hidden except under makeshift masks of scarves. Arms apart, waiting in lines. Around and behind what few pharmacies or groceries open early.
I hunt in quantum red spacer lines, leaning on their presumptive measure of safety. They will ( else we will ) one day be relics.
I hunt at dawn to clear the fog of dreams, streaming blowback of a new-normal day. Monitored store doors of entry and exit attrition. One out; one in. Pandemic dreams about what is unclean to touch, much of which would make a mother Earth weep.
I hunt at dawn on the edge of a new world. Rich with audio and images that impress without touching. Bringing us closer, for now we know who we are is what we’re hunting.

About the Poet: Roger Kenyon

I live in Northumberland County and gave a 2019 Reading in Cobourg's Third Thursday Series. I enjoy big ideas in small words. Maybe that’s the teacher and lawyer coming out. Or maybe my interests in philosophy and programming. In any case, verse is my canvas."Quantum Hunter" has appeared on my web site
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