And Still

And still
the owls find
the low evening,
their voices tangled
in leaf litter
and fog,
and still
the jays crackle
wild-disguised
as red-tails
as hawks,
and still
the raccoons pig-snarl,
their paws caked
with dirt
and blood,
and still
the cedar trees
shiver,
silver-eyed,
ghostly
against
the setting sun.