FORESTRY

My tears carry the salt of dead oceans
To the new clear-cut
Among the absence of oak, poplar, and ash
A wood thrush passes, dazed as I am

The water in my eyes comes, perhaps,
From a coal mine in Eastern Kentucky
Or the dew from over-grazed Utah range
Under the barren ground
Beech leaves stripped by dry wind
Chanterelles wait in silence for damp July shade
That will never come

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