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Ancient Forest

Blue winged moths carrying pollen to their homes
Over the methane chambers of the forest:
They float above their nests, lighter than air,
By capturing gas in the crevasse of their wings.

The crabs grip the roots of the trees;
Their claws unearth them from the dying soil,
And rebury them again in fertile places.
The sleeping roots, the keeper's toil.

The ocean's river pours into the forest,
Carrying creatures to new ecosystems
Where they open their translucent lids.
Their gills relax, they finally breathe.

Lantern flowers and aging trunks entwine,
Sucking lemon juices from the soil,
Feeding the wise and ancient trees,
Touching sky seeds, falling evermore.