The Feast

Surrounded by darkness, she moves through the night,

Awaiting the arrival of the lost soul;

Silently, easily, cat's eyes sharp and bright,

She discovers its presence, as black as coal.

She adds it to the collection in her home,

Tying it firmly so it will never roam;

She'll wait for the lean months, and then she will feed,

Its incorporeal flesh filling her need.

[This is a hendecasyllabic rispetto, something I've never tried before. Feedback welcomed.]