#2

Bright, Bright,
the faded stars shine,
over mountain, fell and lake
the dusky moon climbs.

The rich velvet blanket
that we call our night,
clouded with sheep and teeth
that bite.

A hum of wind
that carries by
the cricket chirp
and the longing cry

of its own great moan
that carries still,
on the cold, winter night,
that watches for kill.