Free Falling Bug

I wait for the oxygen to light
the smoldering spark within myself.
Sun on skin and warm and golden vines
on leaf-tipped tree, a weathered wisdom
reaching down to hold me in embrace.
Decay and life in symbiotic
shimmer, blowing gently and the tree
stands tall and strong.

                                               Bamboo forest, sun
shadows thicket on the leaf-strewn ground,
illumination on the green-gold
hew. I search for shade because the sun's
passion is too much to bear, and I
avert my eyes because the brightness
of truth is too much to see. Now the
shimmer is within, ground and green and
crawling bug and the leaf gently floats
                                                                         to
                                                                                    earth.

Tree frogs, birds, and the shadows lengthen,
firmness of the ground beneath my feet.
Consider the spider on your arm,
flicked into the air,
                                           free-falling bug.


© Christine Salkin Davis, 2019

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