Above my head, thick gray canopy looks like death
& its bellowing gurgle speaks to my book like death.

Pulling me under friendly tree, it occurs that I
am in more danger than before.  Hooked by death.

A perfect illustration, poisonous clouds that have
never been witnessed–eyes uncooked by death.

So I weep for all who have been touched
by disintegrating mushroom blasts–cook like death.

Now dry & red, these eyes are unable to retrieve
Jacob’s lost tears–unknown nook of death.