Eyes, lethal
but a baby bird sort of mouth
tugging at sap for minutes
and frowning for seven more.

Tick, tick, tick:
the sky-clock haunts her hunt.

If one is not fast enough,
there will be plenty to eat for
those who survive

like aged gold
tarnished, useless, just the tip
of her cupping hands –
catch the glance of imps here.