Undercover darkness
held in the hands of dawn,
to shape over these hills,
this obscured eroding volume;
raises the wind up a decible,
plays a strain few will notice.
A Tawny flight slips invisible,
background cover filters out all,
but to the dismay of the shift,
the nameless nocturnal,
instincts will soon subside.
In justification for scouting
the leisure of grey meadow fauna,
a Barn owl glowers, watchful over
a second world emergence.
Our semi sun ressolves in a halo
that moonbathed trees half recollect,
meeting reluctant halfway;
marbled sways against the sky
begin a light transition
few may have been the witness.
