Up on the railroad right-of-way
You can look over monoculture houses
And see the shadow of the tree line.
Last vestige, nearly a ghost
Of the tension that was between prairie and timber:
Looking back through the years,
Like beholding a figure in a fossil.
The tree line
Where white oaks outshot the buckthorn
In the creep of the shrub zone
Still lives and breathes
Like a spirit of old
Pinned to the future
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