Clearing

The hill stands bare
and naked, wrapped
in the sharp dying scent
of vanished pine.
Scoured ground,
cleaned with diesel churning
power. Pale
white stumps, ghosts.
The grass remembers,
shade and cool.
Wind among the needles,
sighing. Cracked,
by engine roar and shouts
of men. Wrapped
in the sharp scent
of vanished pine.