more spring poetry

budbudbud
the trees are chanting to themselves.
Even at night I can hear them, shoving
sap around, gnawing the earth. They are getting
while the getting is good,
eating sunlight, shitting air, gearing up for
the coming orgy of summer. Leaves open
like hands begging. Later it will be seed pods,
gravid and sexy. For now, they concentrate
on the foliage, intense as any mammal that
sees its desire in sight.
budbudbud