Shadow Dance

Joy Davidman

The hurtful power of flesh
Lends your desire a mesh
And your hatred a blade;
You lunge, where unafraid
I flash and evade.
So you will swirl your net,
Intent to set
Strong toils about my head
And strike me dead,
Who presently am fled

Shifty as little sand
Blown from a closed hand ;
Too lunar and thin
To fix upon a pin,
My trophy skin
Will not adorn a wall.
You cast your net, and fall;
Now admirably strain
At the slim noose of pain;
You will not fight again.