Cresting the steep hill by I75 south
the reverse mohawk of a tree copse
shaved for the spiked towers—
the black bondage line straps
of the electrical grid softly curve
from point to point a collecting net
for graceful raptors or
the local murder of crows
or unkindness of ravens.  

The scars the installation machinery
left behind softly covered now
as the kudzu begins it disquiet work.