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.