Life Stalks Death
Moonless, the night pastes itself
onto an imaginary sky.
Cats crouch.
Under-bush nibblers in their bolt holes
whisker speak,
as trembling senses crawl
into a skin-tight stillness.
A cloud scatters
shredding threads of perception.
A lamp-lit moon glow
peers through a momentary window,
sees the swishing tail,
the twitching interim paused
in apprehension.
A tablue is caught
in the creeping stealth
of blood calling to blood.
Tracks will be hoar frosted over,
all will be well met
by the narrow boned dawn
where cawing crows may gather
for their pickings.
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