Eye of newt
yours becomes the seed of paranoia
in this cauldron of rock
widening at the hint
of any light, breath or shadow that moves.
You can sense weed or feather wisp, vine or hair tendril
quivering in the wind, You even know
when I blink– watching from a distance
hidden by garden trees.
Sheltered under log or shrub,
you spend your day eluding the sun
but sometimes you settle under my skin.
An agile spine
tightening with fear, suspicion ( beautifully)
eerie in its own right
as the moon stretching over the pine’s vertebrae.