Sleep

I've heard them say it's quiet
in the country,
like a murder of crows through the silence you're cutting
and I'm trying with fire on stick
to send you bolting, as you bolted before,  
because this vessel can't bear being prey again.  
It can't sustain another fretful feast.
I've heard tell it's quiet in the country
yet living out in the thicket my mind is rarely at peace
while I sleep she takes to whimpering, trembling within, escaping across interwoven valleys, knitted rivers and woods
to the hollows you hide in when starving
alone.
I can't bear it
and you outstretch those worn-down claws to her  
as if this time they won't sharpen, slice through flesh, as if this time they won't expose pale bone and cartilage.
I know better, abandon it again,  
with the same She whimpering, trembling within
yet
with the wisdom of years
I take her to sleep solo in bluebells woods,
a duller blue without the battery.