TRACK OFF THE MOUNTAIN

Oaks and acorns, buckeyes turning
crimson in thin air, empty heads
of blond dry feed awaiting rain
for another crop of grass and seed—

the old soul that sustains itself
apart from the hazy world below
with its improvements, its notions
of success and progress that seal

the most productive off, choke
and forever neuter fertile dirt
beneath orchard rows of houses,
concrete and asphalt streets

to parking lots for millions of hungry
cars, freeway rivers stalled with debt,
gridlocked daily to pay the bills
to keep all the wheels turning

to more ground to improve, mine
and drill, extract value—suck
life and suffocate its soul into
an empty plate to leave the future.