In days of old, did pensive dancers loaf about, leaning on temple doorjambs? Or, was that only the case in the minds of sculptors?
Pensive [Free Verse]
1
A sprout sprouts from the dirt. Above, dead leaves keep the tender leaf cool & moist. Below, worms churn the soil -- churn and aerate. Fungi decompose the lowest leaf layer, turning it into nutrients for the sprout. I'm tapped into all that magic from afar: -creation & destruction, feeding into each other -energy becoming life, life becoming matter, matter that - in turn - becomes energy. If there's a forest, I am the forest. I'm life and energy & death and decomposition... all in due time.
Loomed over by Howrah Bridge -- that big steel beast -- the flower market is a world of color, marigold garlands in orange, yellow, and alternating orange & yellow. The odd stack of roses: white, pink, and -- of course -- red. White garlands with red accents. Greenery. Loose flower heads in piles, pecked at by tiny birds that bounce and flit. Rose petals at risk of being carried by a gust into a swirling cyclone of romance -- only to be left littered on the muddy pavement.
Nature Is Never Silent: how animals and plants communicate with each other by Madlen Ziege
Hawkeye, Volume 1: My Life as a Weapon by Matt Fraction