Brooke Wolfe Poet Sestina

Sestina In the Jungle

In the jungle, floating mist
Sways in and out of unknown vines
To trip and spit and rhyme among branches 
Whose long spindles CREEP! Like the green
Of your eyes. Everything is real in the sway
Of things. Everything lives in the moss

On the trees. I would like to be moss
Hanging out despondently amongst eerie mist
Which seems to float and CREEP! And sway
In the breeze like squirming leaves on vines
Dangling in my face I just can’t comprehend the green
Of the day is fading away, even in the branches

Oh amongst branches I could only see the branches
In the green of the moss I could only feel brown moss
CREEPING but growing continually in a lively green 
Abode nestled with swarming seas of mist
Rising, falling, laughing, crying, swaying as the vines
And tired as my mind, lost in the sway

Of gone days. Take it away, continue to sway
In the jungle the mighty jungle full of branches
And tears fall of trees dripping like flowing vines
Like my hair. And your hair, like the moss
Grows under superficial shadows made by mist 
And sweat. Sweat like the sadness of green

Tears.  Sadness of green, there’s too much green
Rising around me, falling and swaying 
Like tulip petals in spring growing through misty
Meadows.  I can’t see through your branches
Close your eyes, your ugly mossy 
Eyes allow the wealthy vines

Of summer to counteract the wintry vines
Of your day. I’m tired of you, green,
When all you do is infect impure moss
Stinging my smoking soul surrounding this forest in its sway
But I don’t know how to turn around branches 
Of trees and I don’t want to see dark mist

Anymore. I just want to climb the vine and sway
Into green jungles enveloped in poisonous branches 
Covered in my tired mossy mountain mist.

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