Tree Huggers

De La Lune

The lawn; a launch pad,
where we can zoom
with an eye at full tilt

rocketing sight through a 

tube
aimed at a squint, a wedge
statically strobe-lit in the sky.

Then hover there
and stare, at the limit of the lens,
tread water over it;

the lost birdbath,
assess the pitted rind
of the barren path,

the common land
of Earth’s spur;
a dark horse toiling

in perpetual harness
with the sea and all life,
its origin and cycle-

what do we get from its fullness
really? Bear in mind all
the lunacy, lore

as the timeless dial expands
from pin point to pint full
of cold blood of sun’s shine,

a splinter to a barrel,
rolling blindly
like the planets do
in their sockets.

gLitter

The satisfying click of plastic
-airtight, watertight-
the everyday seal of a species
stretching the elastic
of the food chain

the oil slick of plastic,
an aquatic epidemic
across the Pacific
Atlantic, Antarctic;
a message, geographic

-too much glitter
in the goldfish bowl-

a discarded plastic peel
-vinyl, Perspex, acrylic-
we’ve got wings
we need to unstick
be we roll on more
underarm gluesticks
to be like seabirds seasick

shedding the plastic
stretching the elastic
and when the sea snaps;
collapse.