Epoch

 

Chlorophyl morning.

Canopy shadow

understories paths with leaves.

 

Oxygen levels

swoon my dizzy breath

to prehistoric.

 

Rounding the trail home,

I imagine dinosaurs

trumpeting at sloths—

 

would not be surprised

if a pterodactyl flapped

from the heron’s roost.

 

This is what we feared

when Godzilla smashed airplanes.

Only reel, not real.