In Fur

From the eye of these oysters, I wipe nacred debris,
While days stay stale, and the nights prey on me.
The harsh winter's winds do their hunting in packs,
Gnaw limbs to the bone, and scream through tree cracks.
I hunt down strange beasts to their wild beastly den,
Following foot trails and dung, to the killer of men.
I offer my shadow for the Goddess' fur,
I repent my diversions and shall be tired no more.