First the rustle in the grass,
then the rattle, sharp and clear –

neck hairs bristle, then I freeze –
dry and brittle sounds of fear –

sudden whistle in my nose,
frightened, startled, sucking air –

waving tassels on the grass –
wind?, or tattling motion, where

my hidden, rustling foe has passed
below, unrattled and aware

that hasseled, wary, witless,
fearing battle, I am there.