Scree

by Larry Sawyer

We seem to remember and light
like metaphors
the particular yous that

witness the
trees. We attest to the discovery
of seems.
Dark bubbles of hell
Before the jelly planks
Its rotten waltz
Bled and crated
A cargo of hearts
Freshly beating
Waiting and green
The wind and that smell:
But the mutinous
View, the
Sight of the land
Standing stark as a nude.