Of Watchful Eyes

When I look across at Southwestern hills
The sky is drawn-
A grey line against white;
A seam to divide and conquer;
Furtive, are the calls of woodland birds
That signal premature erasure of light;
Here the winding woodland path
Descends through dense and deepening foliage
Of covert growth
In near darkness
The grass here still wet;
A heavy earthiness
Cloaks the air with
Primordial fungal spores;
In this black and white world
A stealth is felt
Of watchful eyes and creatures
Of the night
Set to stir and near.

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