Pray for a Predator

I cannot see him– it terrifies me.

Tall and silent, a still tree in the night.

He moves with feline grace, stealthy shoulders

And strong steps that suck the stars from the sky.

In the black world his eyes are darker still

Sharp as the Stygian owl stare that

Shaves skin from bones and savours the moans

Searching hands that sift through shifting shadows.

Where he wanders the wind trails after

Nipping and gnashing, teething for a taste.

Silhouette haloed by cigarette smoke

Born of heaven or hell, I never could tell.

But as he plays his pipes low I dread not

Him, but me– dancing drunk in his darkness.