Beast

It’s night again. Above the dreaming hill stars are so close your finger reaches them. You’ve downed your pint of beer, have had your fill of darts and cards, and piss beneath a stem of cherry blossom. Luna’s in your eyes and speaks a language only you can hear, a language of hermetic grunts and sighs. You know a beast is stalking, and a deer is running for its life a breath away. You are a bit of both, you think, with feet now moving toward the shanty in the dale like hooves of an uneasy woodland stray, or paws of a wolf that trails a distant bleat until its muzzle finds your bushy tail.