After men cut trees to dirt and stone, coal was drawn up tunnels and cast into light like snakes from winter dens or the coiled intestines hands pull from slaughtered pigs.
Far-off thunder follows the blinking red lights of wind turbines that ridge the mountains, blades orbiting like white trillium in May.
Children grow dizzy counting the revolutions, shadows that kaleidoscope the valley floor, a stolen energy swelling like spring melt or grapevines around the trunk of an oak.
Heat lightning brightens black between clouds. A deep rushing. Then an even deeper absence.
Noah Davis is a first-year MFA candidate at Indiana University. His poetry is published or forthcoming in North American Review, The Hollins Critic, Atlanta Review, Water~Stone Review, and Chautauqua,among others. Davis has received Pushcart Prize nominations for poetry from both Poet Lore and Natural Bridge.
Header photo by WKIDESGN, courtesy Pixabay. Photo of Noah Davis by Marissa Carney.