If I could, I would make my fingers longer
and crack, I would lean forward in my dim-lit cottage chair
I would leer down at you, taller than me
I would swell in shadow with the smell of poultice around

You would think I have more eyes than I have

And I would say
“Young Beast, finally, you have joined me here in the Present. So I curse you again.”

And you would leave without your fur.