In any house the prey has hair
And the hunter has hair and the prey and the hunter are one.
As in you, who are prey, and hunter, and me,
Prey and hunter, and our animals, who rip out
Their own hair if it mats or there’s a bug or for the
Fun of it, I think. They prey upon the birds, the worms,
The lizards, the bugs, the infrequent rat, and each other
Sometimes, for fun each other. There are others, dog-like coyotes,
Tall chunky powerful raccoons, who hunt our animals in turn,
Or try, and leave their own beige hair in a clump
Or their own gray hair in a clump outside the door, and go.
There is a pale shadow of behavior in us to be prey
To each other, it is as pale or a little paler
Than to be hunter. These are both such pale shadows on the walls in other
Rooms, and when they come in ours we laugh.
In a domestic scene, it is probably maudlin
To see the hair of the hunted as the hair of the hunted
In any of the nine rooms or it could be the truth and hurt,
Say at dusk when we thought there was still enough daylight
To be safe, it could hurt a lot, or in the dark when we slipped up and hadn’t
Kept track of the amount of the day or any of the signs,
The various other signs than the hair of the prey and the hair of the hunter.
All this is so while each room is a loving room and completely our territory.