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Forces of Nature

This autumn morning, after the freeze,
They held a summit of the trees.
Motions were made and seconded,
And all the ochre, brown, and red
Snowed down. Each ruined crown agrees:

Today is a day for obsequies.
And since there hasn’t been a breeze,
The colors haven’t mixed; instead
Our hill is a map of colonies
                        this autumn morning:

Ochre, the land of the hackberries;
Red, of the maple—geographies
That spur my daughter to grab her sled
And raise those nations of the dead,
Scorning and smearing their boundaries
                        this autumn morning.