I sat

on the dark, wooden black porch

as the fog fell down the mountain to my 1 o'clock peripheral perception

i heard the wise owl as he sang me his executioner song

i drove down that mountain

with my war crying poker face on

The moon was in harvest, large yellow and full

The owl flew away above my head

as the universe grew strong and sharp, never dull

The cold air no longer bothered me

but the spirits past the porch did

as they snapped twigs and put out fires

i ran, just as everyone in the past had fled.