It was the morning that was creepy, not the poem (I hope.) Here I am, leaping back into the poetry fray. Today's poem that I read was "The Cord" by Leanne O'Sullivan
A ghostly fog
wraps itself around my spruce
and lingers in front of the mountains.
It silvers the sun so well
that it looks like the morning moon
talks of zombies and monsters,
and I look around to make sure they aren’t nearby.
teases me with its sense of mystery
and the unseen.
poses in soft focus
like an aging film star
waiting for her close up.