Predator

Predator.
A predator.
Hunting for something,
Not for hunger
Not for hatred -
A craving to seek,
To find,
To kill.
Do you see the way the blood runs?
A thread of crimson turns to
A river.
Fingers are talons,
Claws -
Flesh rends.
Parting like the ocean at Moses' hand,
At God's command.
Is that it, then?
Some God made manifest in the crimson sea?
Not something you and I could understand.
Touch me, don't touch me -
There is blood on your hands.


May 10, 1994
© Lela Kaunitz