The forest floor of our love holds
forty years of scattered leavings as loam
for yet more growth, riotous and jungly,
our understory thick as old growth mahogany.
Love, now moistly deciduous from our equatorial
heat or the chafing of our years' burdens, but so
sprinkled with caches of color, like strong- beaked toucans,
as to be in all our seasons' memories, suffused in beauty.
Now our uppermost branches expand
umbrellalike, held over the lives of loved ones
who come to sit awhile in the cool of this canopy. Some
become taller than those surrounding, a grand emergent
occurring unexpectedly, perhaps groomed by others,
like howler monkeys, in this fertile layer of our love.
Together we howl our loud lusty call down the rainforest strata
and stand awed by the swarming life sprung forth.
This is in response to Victoria Slotto over at dVerse Poets Pub who talked of Voice in poetry and urged us to speak of something we're passionate about and reveal our personal attitude in the process. Long- term love of my Honey is my passion and I seek to find new ways to express it. Meanwhile, Hannah, over at Imaginary Gardens with Real Toads, asked us to write about the tropical rainforest, so I used this as my inspiration for a love metaphor. Photo is taken in the rainforest of Trinidad where my daughter and her family live.
