A pantoum!

Here's a pantoum, rounding out my final poem for the portfolio!

Gloaming

The woods are quietest at dusk.
Fog passes through trees like spirits.
The muffled footsteps of foxes alert us
so we stay close to the ground and hold breath.

Fog passes through trees like spirits
as the leaves turn slowly to ash
so we stay close to the ground and hold breath
for fear of choking on the deathly smoke.

As the leaves turn slowly to ash
the dim white sky darkens to gray.
For fear of choking on the deathly smoke
we breathe heavier inside our masks.

The dim white sky darkens to gray
but we can barely see the first star.
We breathe heavier inside our masks
and the blood inside us rushes to our eyes

but we can barely see the first star!
We focus with clear intent
and the blood inside us rushes to our eyes.
It would kill us to miss this chance.

We focus with clear intent.
The target is at hand,
it would kill us to miss this chance.
The fire has no will to stop us now.

The target is at hand!
The muffled footsteps of foxes alert us.
The fire has no will to stop us now.
The woods are quietest at dusk.

© 2009 Emilio Gándara