"The Sitting Tree, The Great Lake, and The Gods."
the smell of the fantastic in the air
the humid air of a Nicaraguan winter,
rains pools on the branches of the sitting tree
the sound of an prehistory in the air
the fresh smell of the southern wind,
steam shrouds the twin volcano giants
they are Gods upon the great lake
forsaken to a cage by the skies
imprisoned by green ferns and flowers
a town sits upon its palm,
warmed by the passing of life and death
onehundredthousandexistances
shrouded in shadow
awaiting the eruption
This is raw. But I like it. A lot.
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This is wonderful. I love the third stanza. And I like the rawness. You use the word "air" three times in the first two stanzas and I think it gets a tad repetitive.
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