it feels like almost yesterday/ when the sky was still blue enough to notice

There is such a thing as a cloud forest. Beneath the fog of traveled tropics, there are so many branches that when feet get too tired of standing, one can swing from the skinny roots dangling from heights too high to climb. Leaves catch the drip of moisture and one can easily swim inside this meditation of wet. The ground is hairy. Carpet of flowerless green. Or moss. Or earthy currency, which can easily buy you a meal of nourished oxygen. The clouds run marathons in the sky. Call them yungas or laurisilva or  afromontane or poema.  

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