veiled
some kinda shelter
an invisibility
under these redwoods
where she tries to drive into the village and can’t
the long haired man has the chainsaw out again
and is tossin’ big pieces of red oak out and onto the road
musta got it further south
she can tell by the way it hits the dirt
that it’s green
and hopes he doesn’t sell it til next year, won’t burn
these roads never dry and glisten at dusk
Forget-me-nots rise between the burls
when the sun rises it slivers through the canopy
and it is always night and winter here
fog whispers in
lush, fecund
a place
to hush
it all away