Tea Tree Fingers

Damp bark zigzag-ing,

A hand, clutching onto dewdrops,

Spiraling fungus mocking the flowers,

Lays below the mingling moon,

My hair front flips in the drifting wind,

Listen to the sound of the kookaburras teasing the branches below them,

Waiting for sunbeams to arise from their nap.

Grass tickling tea tree fingers,

Plastered onto mudflats of a log,

A mandala, fumbling for perfection,

Dull brown tenders gazing against cascading sunbeams,

Statue,

Frozen,

Growing fungus expanding rapidly,

Invading the log it calls home.