Sawmill by Taylor Graham

Gone the west wind’s lilt
and laughter, the forest-sighs
of trees

as twisted woodgrain meets
the screaming blade
and wallboards tremble

at the exact moment
late afternoon sun comes
angling through

an upper window, motes
go flying in light-
struck splatters,

a galaxy that swirls
and settles
sawdust on the floor.


Taylor Graham, California, USA