Underworld

By: Colette

Lilies grew in a small patch of filtered sunlight,
the bright rays reached into the stagnant air
of shadows. Perfumed with dirt and moss,
fanned ferns brushed against the rough bark
of maple trees.

Whipporwills thrive in that upper world.
Dancing between the arched branches,
climbing over knots rising out of the dim
canopy to the vibrant blue atmosphere.
In the distance anvil clouds rage with flashes
of heat lightning, pluming forward into
the crystal sky. Small birds roam above
the umbrella of trees, tasting the cold moisture.

Below the lock of maple branches is that
silent underworld, the cracked fingers
of tree roots looking forward into the dust-
wavering rays of light with desire.
To pull themselves from the dirt
and climb into a patch of open grass,
where the soil is soft and sky stretches
beyond the horizon.