The susurrant music of the trees lulled me
deeper into the moss-festooned forest
Ladybird beetles expose mechanical wings and
lift in a deafening machinery of emotion
Earthworms expand and contract in an
accordionic progression that, to the mole,
is a scraping sandpaper shuffle
Moles know moist dark movement is best,
avoiding potato bugs is a
chess game performed in the dark
Salamanders imitate leaves, but
serpentine slither soundlessly through
a moss tumble of stones
In the bog, perfectly intact bodies trick time,
smirk through an ancient mirror
We pass briefly above, lightly, ever looking forward.
Occasionally, snap a selfie by the cypress trees at twilight

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