The Trespasser

Moonlight on the windowpane,
skin as cold as glass.
I wonder is he's sleeping,
ssh ssh on the grass.
Breath condensing on the window,
teeny tiny sparkling drops.
I wonder what he's dreaming,
ssh ssh... breathing stops.
A growl, a bark, a jump, a snap,
refelctions in the glass.
I hope I didn't wake him,
blood against the grass.