The weight of darkness, waiting for the stars to fall, smells of soil. Old oak-trees, skeletal, brush against my sweaty face; their twigs are claws; laced with hunger. An owl hoots with desperation of an empty kiln. Suddenly awake, the bats leave the belfry, their eyes a-glow. Silence between my heartbeats diminishes as fog from rotting bogs, but still I hear his footsteps, confidently striding, crushing gravel.
shooting stars
dissipate my fantasy —
hallow’s eve-----------
Haibun linked to Carpe Diem (shooting stars) and dVerse Poetics where Toni wants us to write poetry on Halloween.
