Shutter cocked, hidden in Forest depths

lens casting about for alabaster
mane, or a grainy glimpse by hairsbreadth
of another lead in the holy hunt, faster
 
foundlings than jackrabbits or -alopes,
and worth a pretty penny more than
any swan-neck ‘monster’ in the shallows.
My ancestors might have held out for an
 
elaborately carved shard of keratin,
treasure of his brow, silv’r-blood amphora.
I just want an appearance again on
Netflix: Paranormal Caught on Camera.
 
I’ll wait by this lake and I’ll capture him soon,
‘les’n I flag down a truck, buy a cone for you.