STYX AND STONES
Darkness sneaks-up outside to surround the house
engulfing the pasture of Angus heifers with fresh
black calves curled beside them, merging oaks
and sycamores along the creek with sculpted ridges
flexed and thrusting the spearhead of Sulphur
towards a rusty bucket sky leaking promises of light.
But in between, Cerebus waits and watches
with underworld hobgoblins picking their teeth
with redwood posts and flossing with barbed wire
while we say our prayers. Somewhere in the blackness
south, a climax of coyote yips is answered north,
here and there, then closer west to work the canyon
into a frenzy spilling fear into every crack of logic.
No one knows what’s out there! – what dark forces
scramble from out of the bowels of Hades.