BRIGHT HUNTER by Bruce Garrett You were gold eyes in a skin of night and quiet as the moon's dance making sure I never knew whether I was owner or owned and I recall times when I was prey (with weapons sheathed in agile play but I knew the hunt was never far from your thoughts) towards the end we were mostly used to each other I had learned the talk and we would pass time in the conversation of stroke and touch or just sitting in each other's presence your satisfaction like a warming breeze but mostly I remember those not infrequent moments when arrested by one farce or another we just sat and just looked across trying to guess at thoughts each incomprehensible to the other yet we recognized each other You would harass me in the morning and I hated it and now I listen for it Pepper March 1976 - March 1990