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.