Unwanted Interruption

Sometimes, there is poetry in everything I see,

everything I breathe.

Images become words

that blend together and become prose.

 

Tree trunks so damp they look charred,

a wet Brown that climbs upward,

boosting Reds and Yellows

until they have enough reach to touch Blue.

 

And then I stop breathing.

Interrupted.

Pulled from my pretension.

My overly romantic reverie,

to notice, startled

a wasp nest hanging above my head.

 

I pass it quickly

and hope

that I may still be able to find myself

in nature once again.

 

But it’s too late now,

and I’ve already gone too far.

I can no longer hear the whispers of the wasps

as I leave them far behind.

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