The Lion's Book: A Poetry Collection

Chills

It arrives at dusk,

prowling like an arachnid in the wood

weaving between limbs that stretch out

to the sky like fragile fingers.

The blackness is its welcome,

sharp as a howl,

and vast as the deep navy canvas adorning the land.

It comes with subtle beauty that is sung by

a choir of caws and crickets and dying leaves

and nips at your marrow ever so intimately,

taking ragged breaths before plunging

a blade in your heart.