prow to the topland, hulk too
big scared loud too fleshed to
find its ease given so
easily to other creatures.
Down on the valleyfloor though
green's still in our dreamseye we
feel its absence look
forage out with
shears
cut break off wreck bushes haul in
leaves stems old dry crests of poppies
wash off the green bugs fill jars bottles
crowd each tabletop corner break of wall or
shelter, with
this great green
we come back to.
Eleanor C. Munro
