artists conceive of fallen logs as eternal, with
stoic disinterestedness, through
static esthetic personal eyes oh
can they paint the forest's need
for fallen logs like primeval soil?
*
* *
while we strive to define nature in
technological sense, and lose sight of the
highland glory and indifference,
oh, how I hope to regress to
the innocence of nondefinition
to untouch the rebirth
of fallen trees
and suffer the dignity
of hawks.
