Food for Fruiting Bodies

by Hayley Boyle

Death comes slow for the forest.

Sleeping giants felled,

conceding to spores settling among fibers,

fingertips clasped to one another

chewing through winter wood or summer wood.

Moss damp with dew

and green like cutting teeth,

throwing tiny periscopes up to grow beyond.

Little lives marrying under the sun,

fractals festooning the earth in sunbursts,

turning stone to dust and wood to pulp.

All demanding existence while

wings beat and whiskers twitch and tongues flicker

for another meal.