Forest poem

I can remember a great many
towering columnar trunks;

bark like dinosaur hide,
and the ground scattered with

a hypodermic junkie-tangle
of old fir needles.

I can remember a bonfire:
greenwood made flame-quick

by gasoline, and punching smoke
into the air. I don’t recall

a single other thing.
My memory is scooped

and planed and smooth.
A sky perfectly empty of tips.