Nightfall Yosemite

Folks talk about the buzz

of sawblades. It starts as more

of a wet, muted thump!

when the blade makes contact,

and then a dizzy, slowly rising hum

as it sinks in, doppler razor

harmonics. (spectacular!)

Wood dust sparks like fireworks

from the trunks, they vomit out

their tinder guts:

'specially the sequoias, like a goddamn river.

Whine, that sonorous creak, bending down—

Reckon I trust, things still turn out

like they must. The stumps still cling

in uneven rows. They'll rip 'em up

next week, I suppose.