Interviews with the Prairie |
While it might be just as easily true that the river
today crosses the broad canvas of the green parkway
and that it might rise up along the sidewalks
up over edges of things that we in the city
have dared not anticipate it is the other day I think of,
at the prairie along Lake Wingra so lush
as certainly not to make a complaint out of water.
What of the cutting tools we brought to the work group
old loppers with long handles that set to the stem
of the grey dogwoods and watched these short
trees fall in miniature timbers and we then stacked
along the rutted trail which had once held fence oaks.
Well I say what of this little cove of green
we find ourselves in this morning with brushed
spotlight of a coming sun trying peel away
creases of the deep green underbrush of thorn
and that the bittersweet would creep unseen for years
around the basswood and choke if it was not for us.
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