I meet him in a meadow. Once,
often twice a year. He is familiar
now, like a teddy bear from childhood,
forgotten until you see its withered fur again.
Darkness. Only a shadow, his face
never been seen. Tall, waist-length grass
surrounds us. Staring at the silhouette
of one another. He lifts the mechanical
blade. The motor starts, smoke clouds. I run,
run from the high pitch scream of the chainsaw.
Meadow turns to forest. Trunks to hide
but roots to trip over. The roar
is deafening. Exhaust fills my nose,
I choke, gag. Hot breath rests
on the back of my neck. I turn
and I wake.