Tim Campbell

Blood is black in moonlight

where it slicks the fur

& impossible to remove

from your nails. Clothing

will never come completely clean

& must be replaced.

In a broad field any movement

may catch your eye,

the wind's rustle, a startled bird.

(Rehearse each disturbance:

nothing matches.) Forget

the reckless careers of men,

their prodigious boredom.

Women scream because they have

been practicing, because

they have seen you

before, in their husbands' eyes.

An animal's fear smells

the same as that of humans,

though the heart beats faster.

Avoid still water

& peering into windows.

Never retrace your steps.

Renounce old haunts, homes of lovers.

Leave no trail for any hunter

except yourself. Hunger

down the scent of blood

to its conclusion. Scour

the bleeding world

for any traces of yourself

& it will empty

before you, retreating

into its own hollows,

& in that silence you will be alone.

Howl in wind-lashed parking lots

between the abandoned cars.

Remember there is blood

in everything, even the moon,

even when it seems

the only pale, pure, unbleeding thing.