photograph the trees. notice the wild wood
early while walking, imagine it may
be mine. to care for , to let be. it could.
it is for sale. new sign on the gate, today
the charcoal burner . he is a woods man
smoke rises grey. price is mentioned . plenty.
I think on his words, the idea, owning land,
crashing back into the wild wood. empty
headed. it is good to be quiet, alone
away from their thickening throng , the dread .
soft voices. smoke rises slow, ashes. old bone.
dust and dust , by dust we bury the dead.
he will split the wood. they may come and buy,
yet in my head the wild wood will be mine.