Sunlight
has trespassed
into the plantation murk,
and,
snuggled
on
a pool of moss,
has
made a blazing
emerald on
the forest floor.
While
all around,
the abandoned
paraphernalia of
trees,
their
dark axles’
wooden
spokes remain
defunct machinery
in
ocean-depth
gloom, seized
in viscid
silence,
the
light argues for life in the depths of planted forests;
it
asks for space, and reminds
with vivid beauty
that
dusk belongs only to nightfall.
