"Take the bushes and save the trees,
they add to the value of the land," he said,
And sent me to the woods
With hachet, clippers and scythe
To trim what was pucker brush
This morning baby alders, ferns and poplars
Caught by the bite of my ax
Pile up a moist sap smell.
I pause to swat a yellow fly,
Then sit to hear the birds-
Watch the method of an inch worm
On the black stick dead
By my hand - stuck
In the moss Mons Pubis.
I smell my fingers and think:
O you who feel this good,
Who in a symphony of breasts and thighs
Come looking for me,
You'll meet an old man on the road
Who'll wink and say,
"He's on the back lot cleaning."