Late Warning

In the dream zone of winter

scarlet elf cups are scanning the future,

acoustic mirrors funnelling soundwaves

into the drum of the earth’s core.

They hold all forms of time at once,

remembrance and discovery,

a kingdom clustered

in the temporal bowl of now.

Triggered by a change in temperature,

these feeders on the dead, these doulas

of spring, shoot into the air,

sporulating throats of fresh cells

as if life could be

infinite and bulbs could be rubbed

for the green cries

of ramson, cuckoo pint, snowdrop.

Who knows what they know

of separation. They call to us —

come closer. Through

the white noise of wind and traffic, lean

into the crucible. Dissolve

your fleshy borders —

feel after the fire,

how blissful the forest.