Habits Driven Deep

This still night, as birds of prey
circle (some might say at will) 

in a cold darkness we learned
to fear earlier, in the light of days 

we thought could never end,

a tiny rodent scurries home

along a path well-worn by hunger

and by habits driven deep 

into the flesh and bones 

of such a frail adventurer.

And if good fortune smiles on him

the furtive forager may yet traverse

a patch of moonlit-laden lawn

to reach the place where safety 

beckons.  But if the fates decide

this night is not the night to risk 

a reckless dash across the smooth 

expanse of turf from garden shed

to half-wild, unkempt undergrowth,

young owls will sleep well-fed. 

.