Sunday, September 18, 2016

Chainsaw on Cherry Wood

I find nothing beautiful
In the shredding sound
Of chainsaw on cherry wood.
Why do machines always seem

By the end of the day
Another hole has opened in the sky.
No shelter -
No shelter -
No shelter from the blistering sun
Of this new age.

Even to trees death must come.

Are these the things
  that help old women
    lay down their arms and say
Good night?

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