When the tracks of the bulldozer
came ringing through the forest
and the tops of the trees
shook and fell from sight,
when the scents of shattered boughs,
the broken heart of the oak,
and the fecundity of lacerated earth
swept through the morning,
it was the end our brief innocence,
but the always-ending time
for the bear and the weasel,
the flittering bats,
the splash of the beaver’s tail,
the owl his nightly hunt.
Then began the time of traffic
thrum and exhaust, yard lights
and power poles
leading and lighting the way
to dollar stores,
soda pop and plastic flowers,
the cell phone towers
connecting everything
to nothing that was here before.
