Its a dim buzz,
the sort you'd find below a
street light, in the dark
in the dead night.

it draws the life
from your eyes

you watch,
no passion, heavy
with your heartbeat a
soundtrack,

your jaw will tense
and hold

stare, past the glaring light
see what your missing
look to the fields, to
the sihlouettes of trees
and the faint light pollution
of the nearest town

move on, past the creek
at the bottom of the hill
through the woods, past
the dead stump and
the fallen tree bridge,

bless the deer beds
with your scent and move
ignore the trickle of the brook
tumbling, and glide
through the branches.

you can step up off the rock and float
to the leaves
to join the owls
keeping watch for food.

the ivy,
climbs you sullenly
and secretly. Press
your lips to the bark,
and spit.

Its dim, the stars
provide no light.

the leaves blend into
the hides of animals
hyenas, in ohio,
preposterous, but in
dead wood night,
you feel them
breathing.
they move.

you know it. you heard them.

and the faint breeze must be the collected
exhalations of the pack.
they stifle their laughter.
you hope for the moon.
but its cold, and their breath
has chilled your bones.