Growing weary on the road,
respite seemingly out of grasp, wild
eyes cast their silver-yellow sullen

warning to the ground below as we crane
our twisted necks up: a meager offering
to the ones who walked the path before

Horned owl, languid head turning, collects
our astonished gasps like cold gleaming
rubies once tossed into a ravine or river —

nearby, the fog rolls in: curious bystander
ever intent on pulling the heavy curtain aside
to devour the last tasty morsels in the thrill

of a bygone moment — reckless and ripe
with the bloodstains of youth, the hunger
departing and returning in an instant