We find this place by accident,
Ancient Eden with its undergrowth:
Dogwoods without their crucifixion stain,
Emerald-sueded fig leaves big as sin,
Even myrtle blossoms bleeding red,
Each entwined by blackberry briars
And honeysuckle vines in white first bloom.
Adam, I just knew it was in the South!
We order sling blades for the clearing,
Neither of us fearing much from snakes,
Needing nothing to lure us but our pride.
I hack away, looking for hints of trails,
Forgotten paths to the garden’s core,
Until you cry Stop!
Spotting the gray army dripping through weeds,
Each member shaken by inborn rhythm,
Yet moving in sync like a spreading stain,
Passing as only tricks of sweat stung eyes.
Wheel bugs! Only wheel bugs? Dogs of Uriel.
Not sure what they are keeping out or in,
Striking all that moves in this knot of green.
Dumbly, they are on me like a plague.
Bringing sudden loss of breath
And a cold sensation of falling.
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