Deck door creaks, then squishes closed.
Ankle’s eye view is all that’s granted as,
slipshod, slipper-shod, he shuffles over.
Tonight? We’ll see.

Hooded yet, I feel the tickle of mouse feet,
signaling its leaving, its leavings
a part of once and future meals.
Unseen? We’ll see.

Undraped now, I stretch, yawn, maw wide.
Fresh fuel courses the chill and empty veins.
I hiss, bleed briefly; then spark fully awake.
Warming to task.

Steel marrowed bones, unkempt, charred black
from too much use, too little care,
prepare my brand, sear stripe.
Bar-B!

Pale, pink pocked, round, and soft,
they arrive — my evening’s guests.
Smooth skin now scarred, scorched.
Lethally? We’ll see.

Marked, I bid them ‘adieu’. Innocents no more.

Carrion eaters circle
hawk’s epicentre;
Talons in fresh kill.

Winter’s best for teaching.

My shadow slips, ripples over rough ground.
Leaps, in a single bound to roof top,
then scrabbles, up trunk, settling beneath me
on a chosen branch, grey, leafless, waving a greeting
as I light — then stilling. As do I.

They scatter, like so many pins.
Struck by instinct, reflex, flock-think,
sheltering (in vain) in Winter naked Bittersweet;
dried and withered fruit, rust and rotting,
all that remains of Summer’s sanctuary.

Movement becomes my friend.
They twitch and flutter back, reassured by numbers, easy grain;
light’s trick, sun’s flicker gone now from consciousness.
But what’s to see? Sharp, gold-rimmed eye
– if they’d dare look up. I wink (back) and watch.

Sun curtained, I hunch, arch, and slide, chute straight.
Tethered by taut focus to a single one,
chosen to receive my freeing gift.
Awareness, short-lived, explodes.
And all is still — again.

Do you judge? They don’t.

Carrion eaters circle
hawk’s epicentre;
Talons in fresh kill.