First drops, like navy-seals, tease out of
their smoldering burden the wheezing
lungs of the forest, barely breathing.
Into the steaming chaos they fall,
teeth gnashing at carbon vomit, leftovers
from Lucifer’s meal.
Into the quiet orgasm of their poetry,
the old stories, not soon forgotten.
And the forest inhales again
her dawning frailty.
But, wait, there’s more –