Down south, the trees are burning–
Our jungle symbols.
And we, with so little left of animal within us,
can’t see through the smoke.
Cats, monkeys, snakes,
our origins and enemies,
bible and biology,
alike in homelessness.
We’ve long since lost our sense of connection–
trees to shelter–
But when it rains,
we seek the comfort of canopy.
Who shelters the rainforest when it burns?
No canopy to spread over fields of raining ash.
We fear the bite of fish, spider, cannibal, and wild,
and let the forests burn.
We can’t own the Amazon, spring of life,
Its own system of law and order,
though we’ve tried.
So we let its basin burn,
Thinking all the while,
of our coffee and tea and chocolate,
Our appetites having ravaged and raped and plumbed
We found treasures innumerable,
And took them,
and left the piranha to die.