Our Elephant Graveyard

Browsing through the foliage You selectively suppress The spindly growths of youth, Maintaining gaps of light Through frequent visitations To clumsily prune each trunkful Of

A Temperate Disturbance

Within the temperate climes of wooded land, Disturbances are part of nature’s flow; But as the rising heat gets out of hand, The fingerprints of

A Twisted Knot

Ornate and prized as something grand, We didn’t know what you had planned; The warning signs we did not heed, You suffocate us with your

Hidden in the Forest

We rip apart the Earth on which we stand, Try tame the wild for all that we have planned; Now caught up in our thoughts