Not Blair Witch Project   Not Deliverance    Not Arthur   Not Robin Hood
Not Last of the Mohicans    Not Deer Hunter   No-one comes down from the hills    No-one surrounds
No arrow weaving through the trees    No Native Americans   No Klaus Kinski
No trail bikers   No rednecks    A flutter in bottom right    Green in the woods
And off we go   Off kilter    Almost plane crash aftermath   But slow   Fish eye lens
Sun glare through the leaves   Like coming up for air in a pond   Silence always
Light over there    On the other side   Shadows on the floor   Trunks bent over
In my path   Roots   Pools of light everywhere   But young trees    Summer for sure
It’s cool here    Inside
It’s hot there    Outside
There is caution   Eye moves slowly over the ground     Big eye
Earth ripples    Bulges up to meet it   Dried up brown leaves
Pink animal hand presses down    Like a paw
No sound still     Golden hair    Naked skin
Legs and a hand again    Catching light in a pink pool
Shadow legs     Bare feet down there   Shocking moss and twigs and leaf
Skin bunches and wrinkles   First time     Examination    Deliberation
Somehow New creature   New earth    Naked curiosity
Light glare trapped shadow me    But not me    Feet retreat no sound still
I break up the pattern     Blue-bottle forefinger
Lichen life    Above the ground   Four limbs lopsided
Cut to canopy and glare through   Vein branches   Eye moves on
Back and forth    Rocking little pan and down to earth   But leaves and trunks and roots
Shadow me and shadow trees   Face in the moss and fade to black

Copyright © 2013, Angela Louise Chicken
Go to the writer’s page