A Warning to Nature Lovers

The mountain laments

that it can’t taste

the climbers it eats.

Something clouds

resemble: white cancers

mushrooming through a blue brain.

Another thing rain

is like: tiny eyes opened

by the fall, terrified

by the razors of flower petals.

Bugs go airborne

to keep from being

eaten. Birds meet them

there, in the air.

At dusk the sky becomes a flesh

from which unseen claws

draw diminishing colors…

In a dark forest, the trees

surrounding us seem

infinite. Who can describe

these pine needles

as they rise toward us?

What are they

injecting us with?

Some illogical impulse

to cuddle bear cubs?

Oh, why not? Whether

we run or just

play dead, Mother

will maul us all.