I’m full of life to the brim,
the hilt; I’m full-tilt, full-pelt.
I’m as sleek as Lady Muck.
I out-swim water voles, outrun
leverets, outlast elvers. I take eggs
from nests, get minnows by the gills
and pull them out, still gasping.
What catches me, you ask?
A sudden fear when the moon comes up:
that unseen hover of wings above a field;
the scentless, snap-toothed steel of a trap.
