the trapper

he was always walking in like he ownd the place, looking deep into every pair of brown eyes with this deep desire to take:
with long strong hands he would be grabbing them up, holding his mouth close
to breathe in and out their scent of unconquered forests, heavy lidded &thick green.

he struts another step forward, consumed with greed to grab her wrists, which snap like a tree falling

and it is then that the mud starts to run in earnest off the newly naked mountainsides. the sound roars like fresh laid railroad tracks cutting through the night, a blade that parts the plains with waves of wheels and pestilence.

behind them you could smell the grass beginning to burn,
the people scattering like ashes into the sky.