first cleared lot seen
driving home from the vet today
not thinking of anything
the flat beige lot hits me
like a frying pan across the forehead:
the first cleared lot I’ve seen,
ready to plant a new life on
like the bright green grass
now painting the black hills
with unexpected hope,
its strong roots dug into
the same tough earth,
ready to reach toward the light
tomorrow
Grey Silence Descends
it was as if the blaze consumed
all the color in the landscape
where there had been the jolt of flowers
or the questionable taste of bright paint
now there is a nearly uniform grey
the quiet whispered shade of ash and charcoal
the palette of Schindler’s List
what’s left is: concrete slabs and twisted steel
detritus the shade of clouds heavy with rain
or month-old snow
and all this must be lifted from the earth shovel by shovel
or one patient backhoe scoop at a time
before any new brightness
might take hold
