“Fauna” by Autumn Moss

Forest floor moss so drenched that the heat of late morning causes humid steam to arisolize
The fresh woodland smell is that of rotting wood wound up with mycelium
The leaves that fell October, dried out December, crumbled to a dust in February
Biomatter seeping into damp dirt
The rotting hibernation nuts and berries never-retrieved
Life decaying smells like spring
And the shoots push up from the soil

I loosen a strap on the tight leather sheath wrapped around my thigh
My wrist is straight as my favorite knife carves every name I know into tree bark
The pieces of my heart invokes the oozing of sticky syrup from the branches
Sweet.
Sappy.

Damp breath, dripping skin
The plants reviving CO2 I pant against their leaves and wafting it right back into my lungs

Dipped hands in a stream so frigid goosebumps race past my shoulders connecting at my spine
I found a smooth star-shaped rock that felt nice and cool in my palm
Soothing the skin scraped against the flora’s thorns
I lay it next to me in the sunshine until it burned too hot to touch

I want to die like a dandelion
A transformation from bright yellow
Reflecting the Sun
Into a soft puffy cloud of pure white
A soft exhale, and I gently fall away.