Elegy, with Burning Rainforest

 

 

 

Tonight let the rainstick down
from the wall; cradle a pod

shaker in your hand, an ocarina
in the shape of a turtle or bird

that your aunt brought back for you
from her travels. Make the reed

pipes carry the oily breath of god back
into the mountains, where the green

roof of the world is burning.
The Boiling River opens its fevered

throat and all the glass frogs
and Jesus Lizards join the potoos

in stampede. Poor-me-poor-me-poor-me,
they cry. Close your eyes; the sound

they make crackles through the wood,
like thousands of lost children.


 

In response to Via Negativa: Book Curator.




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