Solo 08

Silent:
much of this is, much of this
wants to be. Cicadas cry;
my footsteps receive the
rustling of leaves and snap
-ping of twigs as feedback of
my intrusion. A tall branch plummets
down from above and feedback is suddenly
constructive criticism. I tread,
carefully; it's like a nest in incubation
crashed to the floor and I am
walking on the eggshells.
Do the ants do diplomacy?
Probably not, but still, do not fear
the judgement of the jungle;
when undisturbed, its litheness breeds
a brand of bottled thoughts,
and mosquitoes.