You never know where
the next wound will appear,
which cherished place will vanish.
Woods are slashed to stumps
in every city and town.
There’s even a clearcut at the cemetery
where my mother is buried.
The management said,

We have to make room
for more graves.

Everyone wants
their piece of the landscape,
so bulldozers and backhoes
are carving it up.
Logs are flying
down every rural road and urban highway,
stacked tall into timber lorries
that carry out the dead.