All the green seems flat;
Laid out under the gray sky.
No breeze is stirring.
Stream, breeze, transformer--
The only sounds on the road.
Still, there is silence.
All crows sound lonely;
Even when they're complaining
Nobody listens.
The sound of my steps
Mixed with the rushing stream--
A liquid thudding.
Spray of Queen Anne's Lace--
Myriad small white petals
Fit for a monarch.
Like a giant bee
Chain saw hums in the distance.
Dead newt on the road.
The woods are singing
Their high pitched ringing chorus
Familiar to cats.
Poppers are waiting
For the fingers of a child
To smash them loudly.
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