Gods of sentiment, enclose
The past in an overarching crystal
The edges of the firmament
To the rim of what is known.
Inside the split rail fences of the Dutton Land
And to the four horizons
Circling round the hill
I pray to you remove
The asphalt from the roads,
Remove all metal from the roofs
And make them shakes that wind
Can whistle through. Remove
The sounds of every engine but
The creaking waterwheel, the pedal lathe, the
Distant huff and whistle of a train.
Take away the subdivision
Cul-de-sac. Take back the taxus
And the yews of landscaped yards,
Return the hawthorn, the thickets
On the knobs, the creek banks green with cane.
Take these painted walls away, have
Only logs chinked in with clay.
Remove all clothes sewn by machines,
Return the slow-stitched wool
Spun on a wheel, make a rarity of soap,
Commerce of eggs and cream.
Make the sudden flash
Of the photograph
Remove what we’ve discovered since.