Wires

Not forgetful,

the veined, 

supplicant

leaves of trees 

much resemble those 

dispersed in our own limbs. 

A moment looking,

the wide and shimmering leaves 

of an overhanging sycamore,

and plucked one to compare it 

with my own outstretched fingers.

A decade after;

the earth resonates sound,

music and aural magic,

fascinating tendons,

nerve endings alight,

transposing movement.

Pylons hustle wires

together, forming new purpose.

Birds flutter amongst the wires

volatile nerve endings strung,

cast over like the strings on

any instrument of fascination.

Pulsing with deep rhythm and

composing for that carved

once living form a new, yet

flayed and unusual purpose.

Yet anciently lightning would

cleave into those branches like limbs

branches under which animals,

small huddling plants would gather.

The pylons are an ecstatic

rogue displacement of forests

Bristling with nervous excitement

carrying thousand of forms of light

the continuity past death of that 

strange shuddering photosynthesis.