Underground,
the conversation
is animated –
full of light.
Underground,
trees, fungus,
grasses, illuminate
the darkest winter soul.
Underground,
sweet scented humus
hums new beginnings,
offers hope to the weary.
Underground,
a multitude of voices
mycelium, detritus, and rootlets
commune without sound.
Underground,
seeds of pinion pine, juniper,
and cottonwood slumber
in comfort and silence.
.
Underground,
Love is a peaceful wave
moving up through
ancient star clusters
over her head.
Underground,
the Earth witnesses
a month without sleep
pulsing a dire warning:
You must find a way to Rest.
Underground,
the angel of death emerges
from the anguished body
of her dreams.
Her plants and trees are dying –
and she weeps.
This poem gets my imagination going … all that activity underground!
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