LANDSCAPE

No arranged trees there,

No split-barked sycamore

Scattered about,

Staving off insects,

No flare of flowers,

Carefully bunched together

Behind protected plastic fences

On a steep hill.

No branch of Japanese Maple

Breaking out in confetti spring

To the silhouettes of crows

against the sky,

An unencumbered blue

Scrubbed to emptiness

By the long wind through

The hair unnumbered on our heads.

It's all higher than ourselves

No shadow veil of perfection

Or human hand on the

Barest earth's breast.

~Dave~

17 April 05