Translucent shepherd’s crook,
Yields humbly to the rain.
Where it’s cylindrical stalk
Digs the humus,
A beetle sifts the detritus,
With a nimble scratching
Of a barbed foot.
Silver strands beneath the loam
Stretch slender, tender fingers
Curved on the ivory keys.
They toss aside grains of sand,
Like crystalline whole notes,
In search of a harmonious route.
This delicate dance
Plays out beneath the branch
Where my warbler’s heart spills its song,
On this cerulean sphere in equipoise.
And earth lives so like me,
With a vulnerability,
Looking at the fourth wall.
© M. G. Iannucci 2016
Photo: Pink Indian Pipes
Protect the natural world and all its fragile beauty. We are part of her and nature reveals our own hearts.
The fourth wall is a term used with acting, where the actors do not look directly at the camera (the fourth wall).