JOY HEWITT MANN

 

Deep In The Mossy Woods

you saw a fungus,
pointed an arm overwhelmed
by discovery.

Note how the flesh hugs the tree
you said
curls at the edges like smiling lips

note the colour, flushed
like flesh
stroking it you mentioned
movement
how the muscle grew, how
time-lapse could catch it but
the eye not.

You bent to the smell
your perfect nose blending
into the flesh.

I almost expected your mouth
to close hungrily,
make those same parasitical noises
I know the fungus makes
when no one is there --

eating the tree as slow as death.