Behind these trees are hills

And over them the sun, a dying ember,
     fills the sheaths of bark
     with blunt shadows—the pines
Rise like ruined columns,
     crowd the sky with tines that fall
     and steep in hollows.

My blood drowns the rustling tongues with drums,
     the budging forward in the veins
Slowed to stillness, and the strain
     to place each sound demands a glance
     back along the wooded corridor,
     and winding
High through these woven mansions,
     dense with whispers: the unraveling skein,
     the strands gliding

Into shallow graves, the fragile beauty
     set to crumble in its glade, reminding
     of what treads duly near, and striding
Always at my back, heard solid as a shovel-thud
     and scattered soil over coffins,
     the dreaded thing so near
     and the stars

Leaning in like a gathering of pinholes
     toward some imminent cataclysm.

Open Problem by u/vs-ghost
Against Nature by u/Lisez-le-lui

My second attempt at a spooky poem. Help me improve it!