I am afraid after spending some nights in the hunting ground.
Your shirt purloined
Within my gaping bag.
Finding such ration
Invented waver.
A finger-quiver
On the trigger.
It carried penchant
To a hesitant chamber,
Begot disorder,
Tethered hair at the back of my head.
I am afraid after pledging red grouse on a salver.
I track retrograde,
Wait, then, for a steady hand,
Hunt the cavern
For your bulk
To occupy the vagabond garment.
It stands upright
As engaged by some wraith,
Haunting rib-pitched chambers.
I am afraid to glance sidelong the heart
And entirely miss my aim.
Moon Bodies 