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The woods burn dark with heat.
The tree's have broad tops
That are sharp and winged.

As if they were named Ariel.
Green moss drips yellow water
Drop by drop.

Inside out their curved beards.
Old and new are entwined, together
Apart, as if green,  each bush is.

Water yellow,
Flows from her, thick with fish.
Tadpoles and frogs,
Stuck in the necks of the storks.

Snakes large and larger still,
Where any could see, no one does
Or nothing of this is spoken of,
Because.
Smooth and round the swamp in length
Is.

Feeling the squirts, fifteen or twenty,
pulsating each time, flowing from
Away into the dark yellow swamp water.

Roots twist into the thick, callused,
Bruised flesh.
Mirrored in the warm, humid air.
Shaped as if an hourglass,
Caught in between, the middle.

Going in and out,
Are the long dark salamanders.
And then comes sleep.

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