on separation.

hush, Nature's protest
upon hearing its tendriled children split asunder
by those Hatchets who promise
'we'll make your lives better', and thereonin
unleashed a cry that pierced the empty woods
fearing for the fruits of her slow labour.

even the verdant She cannot deny progress
that slashes-and-burns to send smoke rings
the morse of dots and (even more) slashes
welcoming the first of five-stages-of-dissolution
She keeps up the pretension
under a muted facade.


Silence ferments into a delicate, bitter mix
Conjuring storms
to shock and awe those pre-modern Cro-Magnons 
who make a distasteful beat of ceaseless pining

but fear gives rise to fevered pitch


which harmonises with a xylophonic settling in of bared solitude
where ding-a-ling-ling across time and space
pollinates barely contained glee


still She dreads the the lonely dusk that crickets bring forth
with the souless whine incomprehensible, and when
the passing of a night grows
sound into material teardrop dew
adorning glistening leaves in the morning sun

everyday seedlings root themselves
in a once-dense undergrowth
were the nitrate levels accomodating two seasons' patience
that the diverged tracks will merge again.