Monday, January 20, 2014

salvage

massive trees are strewn about
the twisted wood
and now I doubt
my motives
in the
plan I
made
to have
the
fallen
trees
relayed
from the
old sod
that holds
their roots
to trucks and saws by men in boots as ruddy as their solemn faces, men who seem to see no grace in timber stands except for signs of dollars gained by clearing vines and limbs from logs of heartwood hard and split and driven miles and miles away and given to the mill for boards and pulp. 
I sign, I sigh, and cry and gulp.