Hunter's Moon

I am trekking home
In the obsidian night.
My fingers frosty,
Breath of cold smoke.
Hanging there watching
Is the luminous moon,
Something unattainable,
Like perfection.
My fingers feel for the trigger,
The leaden gun, death to game and rabbits.
My dinner is almost in the pot.
Then suddenly there is a glare of headlamps
And I am the one caught in its gaze.
Panther police set to pounce.
The moon's beauty intensifies,
She is a white marigold,
And slow rain mists my midnight foray.
A violet crack of lightning
Supplants the daytime rainbow.
Tomorrow is another time,
Another hour, minute, second of death.