Swallow the Sky

Afternoon

Arc roots sprung crowned deep drowned darkness down;
a mossy shroud, a ferny crowd to collect on their inheiritance.
Wet, steep, angled, sleeps the forest wide 'round;
insects alone, muzzing moan, keep house while
snorers groan and heave their heavy breaths and
wait the heady sun down. Relaxing berries fall
below and careless in their falling though,
green and hopless, lean and hard, in their falling
lose the lot. Quiet dead and plenty rot,
gently fade and fungus graze: in the damp and
thrumming camp silent says the later day
and all the matter easily lays.

~Michael Gabriel Booth