On my way home from the grocery store, the four-storey mansion
that seems to have lost itself in a Kentucky suburb
while searching for a way back to its fairy tale demands
my attention, but I ignore its flowing fountain and trimmed hedges, gazing
instead at unadulterated forest, maples burnished sunset-
gold as far as horizon will allow
me to see.   I imagine I am a prehistoric falcon
surveying these pristine woods before the trees
surrendered to choked highways, cracked parking lots, and overpriced
grocery stores.  In this lonesome copse, we have not mined
the “wild” from wilderness.  Neither axe nor plow has defiled
this land.  Here, nature is as it once was, how it may be again
if we stop basking in the glory of our own creation and rediscover
the grandeur of woodlands sandwiched between suburbs.

As long as forests that seem to stretch into forever
sprout on our roadsides, 
there is still hope.