She walked up there half the night
She hasn’t said a word
She leans her forehead against the windowpane
& looks out at the country
His face is sweating
He’d better not
He strikes off down the fork
& has no qualms
It stays hot for too long
The room smells of food & stale smoke
Something that needs fixing
& the moon is almost full
The moon leaps & shies sideways
like a spooked horse
*Bibliomancy: Constructed from random fragments from The Hunter by Tana French.