Fincastle, Virginia: 1808
When trees cast their shadows
in a long line, their gathered shade
brushing the nearest tree’s trunk
& branches, they may be cleared
in a single roiling wave. Cuts
must be well-placed. The wedged
mouth of the notch determines
direction of fall, heartwood collapsing
against itself upon vacant space
until the hinge tears, & the first tree
goes, forcing down the next,
& the next’s deep weight dragging
under its neighbor like drowning men,
all husked & stripped, limbs
like severed things, heart bucked into
pieces inside the flesh’s splintered calm.