Night

I don’t know where he isthe hunter who died long agoHis widow crawls into the wooden bed,breath as calm as a cat’s

I don’t know where she isHer limbs are moldyand an odor comes from her soulA pair of damp handscovers her face; onlyin dreams does she dare to kissthe coldness of the other half of time

I don’t know where it isa single mangets up then falls back to sleepfalls asleep then gets back up

I don’t know where it isthe moon has just risenin that deathly silent mountainfor a whole nightnot even one roaming muntjacwalks past

I don’t know where it isThere’s a waban houseA silent manknockson its door