sometimes in the vast evening
when the sky overhead is purple
and the streetlights throw the trees
into looming crazed shadows,
i can almost hear the breathing,
the secret heart beating that we
lose in the garish jealous sun,
the great beast rising, her hour fallen.
there's a power ing the encompassing blackness,
a rising of primevil nature with
all her brutal unadulterated strength
pulling back to our own hunted dawn
when the beasts with eyes roamed close
and the danger was within reach.
sometimes the instinct captures me-
i am vulgar, i am omnipotent and growling
i am siezed into the dark, powerful,
and i am prowling, hunting.
i believe in the night.
