Folks talk about the buzz


of sawblades. It starts as more


of a wet, muted thump!


when the blade makes contact,





and then a dizzy, slowly rising hum


as it sinks in, doppler razor


harmonics. (spectacular!)


Wood dust sparks like fireworks





from the trunks, they vomit out


their tinder guts:


'specially the sequoias, like a goddamn river.





Whine, that sonorous creak, bending down—





Reckon I trust, things still turn out


like they must. The stumps still cling


in uneven rows. They'll rip 'em up





next week, I suppose.