because we love bare hills and stunted trees
and were the last to choose the settled ground
its boredom of the desk or of the spade because
so many years companioned by a hound
our voices carry and though slumber bound
some few half wake and half renew their choice
give tongue proclaim their hidden name - hound voice.
the woman that i picked spoke sweet and low
and yet gave tongue. hound voices were they all.
we picked each other from afar and knew
what hour of terror comes to test the soul
and in that terrors name obeyed the call
and understood what none have understood
those images that waken in the blood.
some day we shall get up before the dawn
and find our ancient hounds before the door
and wide awake know that the hunt is on
stumbling upon the blood-dark track once more
that stumbling to the kill beside the shore
then cleaning out and bandaging of wounds
and chants of victory amid the encircling hounds.
w.b.yeats - hound voice
fetten dank an herb jung für alle diese fotos
was ich mache
but - in the farthest corner of the great square -
- in the highest building in the land -
- deep in the deepest shadow -
- the man in black stood waiting.
his boots were black and leather. his pants were black and his shirt. his mask was black blacker than raven. but blackest of all were his flashing eyes.
flashing and cruel and deadly...
