Weedy forgotten places along the grade
To stand, in the open, suddenly
A mountain steering down its dark
Out of rank woods buffeted
Weedy fragrant fraught on the grade
Thready buds of hawkweed
Sway the sallow clover under bezeled-
Rosy meadowsweet hovering the sedge
A sacristy of weeds in weed-chock
Broken beds of silvered stash
Trash of a forest pitched
Wherever you turn turn the glamour
River turnings of that grade
Itself the iron-jolted bracken