[rain frog thorn bug tent bat]

Hiro Isono

rain frog          thorn bug          tent bat


along a broken mosaic    a spongy    ever-dwindling path

soaring trees    woody buttresses    their massive twisted fins

lofty crowns    shoulder to shoulder    climbing lime-green

vines    restless palms    one strangling plant    clinging to

choking another    a discontinuous canopy of branches and leaves

impenetrable    alive and teeming    tangled underbrush

the deeply shaded soil    lumpy roots    writhing

across the forest floor    low-growing ferns    seedlings

struggling for light    jewel-colored hummingbirds

insects sizzling and clicking and the dripping water

trickling into the tiniest crevices    steamy

claustrophobic air    a dazzling bellbird    lost

in a shaft of sunlight    a golden eyelash viper

sinuous as a vein on a broad-leafed frond    flat worms

land leeches    walnut-sized spiders    goliath beetles

camouflaged butterflies on dead leaves    parasites    bees

leaf-cutting ants atop glorious white lilies    everywhere

gripping    climbing    twisting    floating through the trees

stilt-like aerial roots    the mouth-amazed pitcher plant

buried larvae    fruit-eating fish    the perpetual battle to adapt

the ruthless drive    to survive under a punishing sun

what grows    bursts forth at astonishing speed    then decomposes

to be reabsorbed    so much unknown    unfamiliar

unnamed    but before long    the trees seem the same

the rocks    every bird track    who would dare think of such a place

who would dare        construct one         of his own imagining

and be utterly abandoned    in the middle of it all

if to be lost is to be fully present    if confusion becomes

the only boundary    and then    the decision    [to divide space

until a direction is created]    only a madman would begin

thought is its own cage    the mind    already anticipating

the first step    deciding    every turn will be coupled

by disaster    and perhaps    some bestial creature

crouched at the center    crying    waiting

for our hero    our everyman    our Elijah wandering the earth in rags


Francine Sterle

"Who would dare think of such a place/ who would dare construct one"! "So much unknown."
So much unknown. That phrase keeps echoing in my head.