What If

stars were inanimate objects

more like painted – rocks

in luminous

moon-white

and I

a shadow

lurking as a tree

stillness my password?

Hunger is attractive.

From my hideaway

I snatch a pudgy bat—

its shriek

resonates: gives me hope.

The breeze is a sounding

board – that thrills

to the accent

of my victory

as an echo

that criss-crosses

a valley full of loneliness

and I sift between each

tree – soundless.

Movement just

a flicker.