I stand beneath the parents of the wild.
Rustling overhead are leaves that took millions of years
to learn their trade and perfect it.
Pure green lit like dappled paper lanterns edged in lime,
fluttering when they rise with the wind.
Veins flow through them like creeks running through time:
tiny and strong, they build futures.
When the light turns red on the highway
I can hear the leaves and who they shelter.
Chirping songs break up
that whisper of assurance: it is the young speaking to the old.
Mine is a tiny melody too, for my human veins are new,
my perfection still far away.
Perched on ancient branches,
I will learn my way to sunlight.
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This work by Briana Batty is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.