Beetles thrash a path, slipping, blisters burning
shade before noon, feet slide, spider eyes burning.

Sunlit wings flutter in layers of philodendrons,
wings ringed with blue are burning.

Legs splashed with mud march like ants
virgin trees, ancient memories burning.

To walk, barefoot in morning dew
tinged white clouds disperse burning,

turquoise flashes, grilled scaly feet stink
bellies twist howling from tree to burning.

I choke on a blue sky streaked with loss.
Warriors fall in pristine gardens, burning.

Emma Woodford is from the UK but has lived all over the world. From her current base in Belgium she draws on these experiences for her poetry covering many subjects, including environmental degradation.