Dave Cull


from the hydro right of way below Little Mountain; Parksville, BC.

The memory of snarling chainsaws,
signals for another clearcut
in our dreams of cosmic order,
        fades out into history . . .

These days the noise
betrays another pack of unemployed
Vancouver Island loggers

just about to steal 
one last remaining old growth cedar

and a twisted pile of huge Arbutus 
bucked and split
for firewood.

Dave Cull Index
The East Village Poetry Web