When The Pines Sing Best

WHEN THE PINES SING BEST


Where the dark pines came down is
When the pines sing best, still fresh
As the men sit round opened sky and drink
Hot sugared tea after in tin pannikins
Like bit-heroes slaking a battle thirst


The axes stood shining on their handles
As the two-man machine-saw ticked off
In slowing time after the muscle pitted
At the wood with pine resin oozing out
Of log cut limbs, trees diced off of saws


Cooking a blade-released timbred aroma
That hung on the air like last wind song
Was breathed in quick as the men's voices
As they told tension lean stories of trees
And out again in their sighs and guffaws.