Abandoned Animism

[makeshift]

Myriads of sprites suck life
from the underbellies of moist deadfall
like farrows crowded beneath 
pink mother mounds.

The wind hears the pulse of wooden giants,
and passes the message a long
to leaves, and clouds, and glass
that peers past facades into the corners
of young children's rooms.
Soon teachers will whisper
the hearts out of dirt,
and grass, and children
will forget the wind's words.

A coon succumbs to duality,
but on the way up
his soul gets snagged on a plastic bag,
and his body sinks in to a sun
bleached beer can some one didn't think to throw away.