Even the hunters, who smile to cock

The deadly choice in their minds, and like

To carry it by loving custom lightly,

Looking for something to kill, even

The hunters sometimes it overtakes

Over the half-killed quarry. Do not look

In their eyes, they will tell you, there are questions

That cannot be put out with knives. Sooner

Or later, just the same, the eyes are there

Asking out of the bird broken

On wires, out of the crushed rabbit