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

        

Copyright © Cy Dillon, 2002.  All Rights Reserved.