The Bearer

Like all his people he felt at home in the forest. 
The silence beneath great trees, the dimness there, 
The distant high rustling of foliage, the clumps
Of fern like little green fountains, patches of sunlight, 
Patches of moss and lichen, the occasional 
Undergrowth of hazel and holly, was he aware 
Of all this? On the contrary his unawareness 
Was a kind of gratification, a sense of comfort 
And repose even in the strain of running day 
After day. He had been aware of the prairies. 
He had known he hated the sky so vast, the wind 
Roaring in the grasses, and the brightness that 
Hurt his eyes. Now he hated nothing; nor could he 
Feel anything but the urgency that compelled him 
Onward continually. "May I not forget, may I 
Not forget," he said to himself over and over. 
When he saw three ravens rise on their awkward 
Wings from the forest floor perhaps seventy-five 
Ells ahead of him, he said, "Three ravens," 
And immediately forgot them. "May I not forget," 
He said, and repeated again in his mind the exact 
Words he had memorized, the message that was 
Important and depressing, which made him feel 
Worry and happiness at the same time, a peculiar 
Elation. At last he came to his people far 
In the darkness. He smiled and spoke his words, 
And he looked intently into their eyes gleaming
In firelight. He cried when they cried. No rest
For his lungs. He flinched and lay down while they 
Began to kill him with clubs and heavy stones.