When you walk into a jungle,
the first footfall splits veins
with epinephrine, the spike 
of quick, deep uncertainty. 

Bared teeth are expected, 
the chase of two straight, 
white canines like too-real
figures standing in shadow. 

Viscera lies on a carpet
of moss, beside your heart
tumbling to ignite some 
apt, biological failsafe.  

Does it activate in time? 
Do you even realize?