jungle morning: a poem


brilliant short tendrils
come out of a night
full of noises and
dripping and
busy spiders,
gleaming in the first
sun that yawns
its way
past barely open pods of
rainbow orchids,
preparing to meander on the ground,
up a tree,
through dead leaves
towards a light
that is just too far away.

look! a beetle.
brown, green and blue:
its trembling wings.

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