Within a jungle, plants wage war
stems by petals, leaves to roots,
for a sip of drizzled light
or trickles of assuaging rain
slipped through grabby canopies
of elder trees absorbing most.
As shadows salve or smother vim
and twigs enmesh themselves in traps
and branches lash or crash and crush
and flailing trunks contuse the scene,
this struggle of no treaties signed,
no spoils vaunted or parades,
rallies under Flora's flag:
no darlings kept, for all of life.