On Dying Beautifully

You stalk me through the tall grass.
All I can hope is that I'll be drinking 
at pond's edge when you spring from the brush,
the water so stirred by my tongue
that I won't see your reflection
as you streak silently toward me.

I might never see your face,
but I pray you'll wear a glorious mask
for me, with a stare that's fierce 
and full of mercy.

Perhaps I'll be unlucky enough
to see you coming, time enough
for me to dash instinctively past the trees
and reach the clear grassland.
I'll run until my back burns 
with the ice fire of your claws
and we erupt together 
in an explosion of dust.

Perhaps I'll be unable to breathe
when your teeth and jaws clamp
tightly around my throat,
causing my ears to ring
while the world fades gray to black.

But not before I see your dizzying spots,
your eyes flashing brilliantly yellow,
not before I feel the heat of your meat breath
and hear your children padding to your side.
They will be hungry to gain strength
through my body, so that those after me 
can die beautifully too.

Scott Speck
06/17/2001