Prepare yourself; shadows
leaking over ridges
in the mountains
lengthen.
Not one but three
hawks circling
the fallen prize-
circling.
Blackness grows in
toothless woods, hurries
towards the sunken valley
eating light.
Just outside the safety
of your house, evening
knows the secrets
of your heart;
prepare yourself, the shadows
bringing home your grief,
a phantom of your sorrow.
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