I walk the foggy foggy night,
dew drenched branches, a mottled gray.
Drops slide from leaves, staccato beats,
a pool dances in a fine spray.
I breathe in pungent humus,
slip through the forest, bole to bole.
Listening to the sentinels cry,
desolation I can’t console.
In ritualistic reverence,
beseeching with energy probes,
I look up through the canopy,
blinded by the bright lunar strobes.
I feel this living place beneath,
Nature’s pulse beating strong and clear.
As the fog, I will dissipate,
rejoin the collective soul here.
M. Zane McClellan
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