Dusk is the time, all mottled
and thin, when her blank eyes rise
to stare in a way I know
they cannot. Six feet of soil
covers a secret; daisies
tell of old plots. A grave smile
worms its way, twisting through thought;
a knife blade biting cold flesh,
slicing past the haze of years
to an olive grove in shade.
Such raucous cries - a murder
of crows circling, disguise a
demise in vines far below.
Ryan Stone is a freelance writer from Melbourne, Australia. He shares his home in the blue Dandenongs with his wife, two young sons and a German Shepherd. His poetry has recently appeared in Writers' Forum Magazine, Black Poppy Review, Goodreads, Cafe Aphra and an anthology or two. On daily walks through his forest surrounds, he often peers down rabbit holes.