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 scrap dealer

    Our math was always off.

    Weeks of lifting & grunting

    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

    Groaning under a new load，

    Yet tiger lilies lived better

    In their languid， August domain.

    Among paper & Coke bottles

    Foundry smoke erased sunsets，

    & we couldn't believe iron

    Left men bent 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 warship or bomber

    Out over trees with blooms

    Too red to look at.