Murder

Approaching quietly, I slit her throat,
I laid her gently in the boat,
To a stone her feet were lashed,
In the water her body splashed.

She asked me why I cut her throat,
Dumped her body in the moat,
“I knew you not”, we’d never seen,
The other in the flesh or dream.

Tiller firm the motor puttered,
Water black as my soul shuddered,
Then I awoke from the dream,
Soaked in sweat or water sheen?

I asked myself which was real,
The dream or water-cutting keel?
Am I in a boat or in my bed?
Is she alive or . . . . is she dead?

Night came again, time to sleep,
Dream or nightmare, which to keep,
Laid down my head, shocked and scared,
From up above, the woman stared.