“The New Arrival” by John Grey

In the forest, half hidden by
stands of pine, splendid flowers,
sits a large metallic object,
the size of a barn, but round,
its circumference, a string
of flashing lights.

A frightened fawn skitters
back to its mother.
Squirrels leap-frog up trees.
A door opens.
Something green and glowing emerges.

Oaks recoil.
Pond reeds quiver.
From bird to bee to buttercup,
what doesn’t fear obsolescence
worries for the loss of instinct’s grip.

In the forest, nature’s severely put out,
its carbon base shell-shocked
by DNA that, under a microscope
of foliage and fauna,
contradicts its surrounds.

Roots question evolution.
Treetops naysay God.
Rivers wonder will they
soon start flowing backward.
Wind stills,
awaits new instructions.

A creaky metallic voice
asks of a wildflower,
“Take me to your leader.”
The wildflower whispers,
“You are.”

John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident. Recently published in Examined Life Journal, Studio One, and Columbia Review with work upcoming in Leading Edge, Poetry East, and Midwest Quarterly.

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