The timbering done
the afternoon rings out
an aftermath.
What euphemism
would you not choose
in this multi-use
forest? I've left
crumbs for returning
the way back
marked by tiretracks,
lopped branches.
I've left words
in woods the thrushes
sing in refusing
the extinction
of the day. Pines
guard the path.
The way we come
back will not
be this way.
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