Portent

The lush green moss that clothed
rocks and collared the base
of trees has begun to turn
a sickly gray and peel away
into powdery clumps. Nearby,
the contents of an old pot half filled 
with water that had harbored 
a menagerie of life all winter 
has been distilled to dust.

Roots now rummage deeper 
for water and where gulps fed exuberant 
growth, small sips barely keep 
a self culled canopy of leaves alive. 
Life turns inward towards its core
and slips into a kind of trance
deep in its own shade,
hidden from summer's heat.

Further away beyond fences,
the bush primes its fuel. On hot days
a blue haze of eucalyptus oil hangs
in the air. Senses strain on raw nerves 
to catch the first whiff of smoke
or the distant wail of a siren.

Post Comments

Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.

Please Login to post a comment

A comment has not been posted for this poem. Encourage a poet by being the first to comment.