Slaughter of Trees
searching for the perfect word on virginal paper
leads to the cut, to oaken tears, to a sorrow of yews;
then the unbalance, rowdy tracks of leaves and
branches, the pushing down against green bursts,
the mud and ways, as if we could claim to find more
than the idle wind through trees on a summer`s night,
more than a hush,more than a whisper,more than this
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