for Jennifer, currently in the rainforest at Tela, Honduras
I enter the forest of ice
slowly, and on foot.
Trees creak in the slightest breeze.
Small branches break & fall
with a tinkling of bells.
The everywhere green of the mountain laurel
never looked fresher, each leaf
preserved
under glass.
The sun comes out.
A thousand swords leap from their scabbards.
On top of the snow, in every dip
& hollow, windrows of black
birch seeds.