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,

straight-shouldered, whispering

the old stories, not soon forgotten.

And the forest inhales again

her dawning frailty.

But, wait, there’s more –