The changing months bring out different bugs

The changing months bring out different bugs
and lizards, the tree starts a dialogue
with the sky. I hear the movement of frogs
in the underbrush, the synthetic drugs

in the cabinet. She lies down on a rug
with a geometric pattern and a thick fog
fills the room like morning. The monologue
of the blue jays, the shroud and the shrug

of a confused mystic. The leaves of oaks
and maples fall and the footsteps of loud
squirrels dart across the roof. Sunlight breaks

the branches brilliantly, the warm red blood
and the buzzing sounds. The weather soaks
the earth completely making a dark mud.