“Revving ... man."

            Revving daily,
            spinning motors
            circle woods
           
            & herd words
            unbecoming,
            unspoken by a man

            when describing
            to a woman
            his own kind

            of half-unfinished
            reconstructions
            of belawned developments

             in western flatlands, never
             mind the desert, greened
             by sheer determination

             to hedge.  Risky
             landscape, this
             recovered

             forest meadow
             sodded over again
             with the image of

              a real estate
              somewhere in Europe
              owned by a king.

              A mower etches
              sound into
              action, scrawling

              empty sense of grass
              on grass, of wood
              on trees, marks

              on earth. This
              rightward movement builds
              on every blink a

              clarity of cut
              between two forests,
              the before and after
 
              insects
              were unknown
              to man.