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The Clearcut

de Alda

Our hearts will ring hollow
In the silence of the clearcut
Where our hungry ghosts stalk the scalped hills
And we'll find no sign on these slopes and fields
Nor in the fate we have written
In the scars of the land

Land-Drinker!
Your truth is unspoken
Wretchedly you climb
Content to gnaw on the bones of your children
Our lungs to the fumes
Teeth to the grindstone
Our eyes splintered in unsleeping light

Oath-Breaker!
Your hope has unraveled
There is a warp in the word
That flies from the cleft in your tongue
Sallow folds of painted rust
Splint of the bone, wrack of the writ
Caught in the teeth of the wheel

The earth has burned black beneath our feet
Yet still beneath the coil of the withered root
There is still life in the silence

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