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The Real Woods Barbara La Morticella

 

1.

The real woods I walk through—and old couch by the side
of the stream.

2.

In and out
of the trees along the edges of the clearcut
men’s voices calling

Red and orange helmets
flashing like birdwings

a line of tree planters:
Spanish vowels ringing in the air
like bells.

From Rain on Waterless Mountain
26 Books
Copyright © 1995 by Barbara La Morticella
Reprinted by permission of the author

 
 


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