The Dead Who Walks

He scoops up the air-choking mist,
the sound of distant wolves,
the lighting of candles,
the blotting of sunlight.
They weave around him like a cape,
like the trail of deer who cling
to him, even in his sleep.

His antlers spread like the wings of a roc;
his legs rise like saplings;
his body reeks of the color of death;
but his eyes burn and glimmer behind his skull;
they shine like the eyes of a god.