Paws

My feet hit the hard earth;
four pads; four claws.
They scrape across the ice,
throwing snow to the sky.

My hands feel the air
between my fingers,
as my feet; my shoes,
do all the hard work.

My eyes don't agree;
with what my nose implies.
That senses follow the heart;
not the mind,
of those they serve.

My heart has killed my mind.
It has run free through the woods,
killing for survival.
It knows the risks;
living on my sleeve,
but it will not be denied
its beautiful freedom.

It lives for the moment;
for the hunt; the kill.
It lives for the chase.

Five fingered hands,
slow down the pursuit.
Shoes take away
the snows powdery embrace.
They will be discarded,
at a moment's notice;
paws will push me
toward my heart's
prey.