Rift (Poetry)

Out here, the hills belittle me —
I shrink beneath their stare,
suspect there’s danger of being
swallowed by the sky’s wide gape,
its fixed grinning blue.

I edge around, nervous
in the aching bowl of a valley
that seems aware of its own emptiness,
get close to rocks, crouching
now and gripped by groundless fear.

Breeze hisses a warning
to a solitary tree, flicks leaves
in a casual way, nothing else to do
but show a passing interest,
prickle along bare skin.

Searching for cover, shadows
to hide in and avoid
the invisible hawk that watches me —
changed to a hare frozen in my tracks,
I’ve nowhere left to run.