The hills my brothers I created
Never balanced， it took years
To discover how the world worked.
We could look at a tree of blackbirds
tell you how many were there，
But with the scrap1 dealer2
Our math was always off.
Weeks of lifting grunting3
Never added up to much，
But we couldn't sTOP
Believing in iron.
Abandoned trucks cars
Were held to the ground
By thick， nostalgic fingers of vines
Strong as a dozen sharecroppers.
We'd return with our wheelbarrow
Groaning4 under a new load，
Yet tiger lilies lived better
In their languid， August domain5.
Among paper Coke bottles
Foundry smoke erased6 sunsets，
we couldn't believe iron
Left men bent7 so close to the earth
As if the ore under their breath
Weighed down the gray sky.
Sometimes I dreamt how our hills
Washed into a sea of metal，
How it all became an anchor
For a warship8 or bomber9
Out over trees with blooms
Too red to look at.
