my own backyard so unexplored

i wonder how the great hunters do it,
as i tread the raucous leaves, a clashing
cymbal in the domed sanctuary
of birch trees.

surely anything with ears
is now hiding from me,
safe in the golden latticework
of crackling caves
and crevices.

we are a loud and boisterous species;
no wonder earth is so timid to respond
and so often deaf to our pleas.

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