We danced, the beast and I
him sniffling a threat, then snorting
defiance as I wrapped my hands
around the air, the searing wind
of his absence from there to there
marred my skin

a knife, brandished, reflects the
sickly pale moon in mourning for the
lilies wilting and refuse that sails down
the murky stream weaving its own
tale, and we splash in it, not unlike
children

another pass and the blood hot sweat
drips generously, hors devours for the night
and I slowly wind my soaked shirt
around my left arm, embalming time

his eyes carry murder and fear, a rabid
animal pawing at the ground and I
carry favor with luck, she stretches me
like a bow, leaning in to hear the
pitch and tune of my escape, once more

and he, body long as a horizon, bends
the light, all suffused and dripping from him
riding the edges of his sanity that falls
over the edge of the rampart

twisting to reach for his life, he loses
the knife, fingers intertwined with apologies

the burning blood ruby eyes sizzle, sputter
then go out

and the land is still, save for the flap of my
shirt that ran before me and waved him
by like an old torero, a matador