The weary sun falls on the western peak
Which pierces and bleeds dry the dwindling day;
The creeping darkness drains the light gone weak
Till rose-hued beams to corpse-pale rays decay.

Cold twilight spins the hanging lunar loom
Whose silvery threads enwrap the ancient wood,
Embellishing the thickening shroud of gloom
Where dark birds roost and in the silence brood.

Gray moths float where bright butterflies once flew
Like ghosts bereft of life’s warm colors, where,
Aroused by crickets chirping, bats flit to
The forest’s heart, called by new noises there –-

Where faeries dance; their firefly-lanterns glow
Midst bluish will-o’-wisps which roam around
The foxfire-blighted trees that starker grow
While the whole world’s in deeper darkness drowned.

Strange giggles ring like cracked bells in this place
As frogs croak and cicadas drone nearby,
Their pitches clashing in this maze-like space
Beneath the heaven’s lone unblinking eye,

From which a silken veil of white cascades
And forms a spotlight on this elfin ball;
The wood’s bedecked in most ethereal shades
As birdsong permeates its leafy hall.

A nightingale performs a joyful tune
That stirs the slithering dark and shivering air;
Gold pixie dust adorns the grass blades strewn,
And leaves sway to the songbird’s lyrical flare.

Long does the lilting singing linger then
Until the last note melts to nothingness,
A soothing lull that’s shattered once again
When a new song subverts the settled bliss.

A faint cry from a perching cuckoo rings,
Mixed with a mockingbird’s more somber touch,
Erodes the calm ephemeral and brings
The fey folk to a standstill in its clutch.

Some seconds pass before they waltz anew,
Their movements slower, more deliberate;
The writhing ghost flames burn a brighter blue,
Fueled by some private woes that won’t abate.

Then comes a great potoo, which moans nearby
And lends its voice to every silenced soul,
Their anguish and regrets shed through each cry
That shreds the night as whirlwinds, sighing, blow.

What eldritch play my eyes and ears behold
In this domain beyond an innocent ring
Of toadstools red, into whose hidden fold
Perchance I stepped, a fatal happening.

More shadows congregate as night wears on;
A wreath of mist enfolds the canopy;
The faeries swirl and hum song after song
Till one screech owl has its gaze set on me.

Its neck twists, and its shrieking laughter drills
Into my startled mind and echos there,
Thus fraying my frail sanity; the trills
Ring on, relentless, and besiege the air.

All other sounds cut to a sudden end,
And countless eyes stare, all dissecting me,
Which makes my blood turn cold and my knees bend.
The moon slips shut. Black stains the scenery.

From out the darkness flash the teeth that grin,
A hundred luminous scythes that rend the shroud,
All sharpening as they shuffle, closing in
On their trapped prey; wild wing-beats buzz aloud.

Meanwhile, the screech owl’s staring, laughing still –
Its harsh cries stab my ears with maddening jeers:
“Foo-fool!” it howls, the sounds unending, shrill,
Joined by a storm of taunts and manic cheers.

[Ngo Binh Anh Khoa is a teacher of English in Ho Chi Minh City, Vietnam. In his free time, he enjoys reading fiction and writing speculative poetry. His works have appeared in Penumbric, Star*Line, Weirdbook, Spectral Realms, and other venues. He also enjoys writing haiku, some of which have received awards and honorable mentions in international contests in the USA, the UK, Japan, Canada, and elsewhere.]