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| Nameless
one, In the evenings When you look at your hands, Thinking of your trade, Fear lights its cold candles In the corners of your room, And from their shadow-play You conjure a stranger Who points across a crowd And shouts a name that Could only be yours. Cat All got up in furred satyr pants, And whipping tail lashed on for the ride, You'll crouch, Creep for cover, Yowl an hour, 
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Fill your
long days with dallies in Couched and cushioned Shadow-caverns, Then dance out for a bit of The old spring and swat, The old lunge and plunge, The old lunarchic game, The old killer's whirl, Slashing at porchlit moths Cicadas and katydids, As thought cedes to deed - For didn'ts aren't in it, When doing's afoot With all its claws out. Owl-eyed, night-yearning Haint, I've seen your kind In glassed zoo cases, The lights dimmed,  |
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