of the breeze is the play of her touch, dissolving hugeness into
discrete articulations, gestures that harmonize the monstrum into
the creek, balancing on deadfall to touch a swath of moss, still
spongy in midsummer. A while ago I would not have noticed, but now
my feet are larger, skin bristling with new hairs, nose more sensitive
too. Still, swilling
through me, human thoughts make
black hole of nature's imagination and in general, the imaginary
animals are not treated in a more fantastic
manner or given any special
attributes or qualities manipulated
into exhibits, safe, clean, predictable.
No biting bugs, no renegade wolves or bears; plants deracinated,
draining entheogenic tendrils.
I call the
shape of weather
ing elements was
as important as
is dry today.