By Andrew Zhao
Within the lively, animal-filled, verdant forest,
a nature-eroded birch tree
the decomposing, browning carcass
of a familiar white-tailed deer.
Nearby, a young child plays,
around a crackling ember.
the bright pumpkin-orange
emanates a trail of invisible
all for the child to watch it rise.
Nearby, a mature child lies,
with an aging collection of yellowing books,
awaiting his mother to call his name.
as he lies, he reminisces of his breakfast,
of the sweet,
ripe orange juice.
Nearby, the oscillating blaring horns,
of a flashing red and white truck,
toward the scene.
the red-capped robins and
the plumped finches
swiftly scurry away–
but, fly to the poles
in succinct harmony.
Nearby, the graying child lies.
Nearby, the big, burly men,
climb up the skewered,
branches of the
white birch tree.
Nearby, a force