In the Forest - John "Jack" McGee

The morning bird,

Like an old man’s whistle,

While sun rides high on clouds’ ridges

And wind

Elevates the song from the bird.

There is only one all-night disco in the Northwest

It is found in the forest

Where the ferns wiggle their tips like

Tall women’s arms on All Hallows’ Eve.

And

Indian plum shimmers

Like the hats of Fillmore Street shine.

How the moss is a moist still guest

And doesn’t like to prance around much.

While

Red huckleberry leaves move like a pianist’s fingers

Sometimes sweeping themselves whole in ferocious passion.

Where salal shimmies,

And the trees make the best of dance partners for

Some kind of romance.