The druid knew the potency of trees,
the ancient roots that tapped
the language of the earth.

Caesar knew it too; the line of Rome
and reason broke on northern
barriers of sacred oak.

The burning of the magic wood
stripped the poet-priest of power,
and the painted warbands fell.

The mathematic rigor of the engineer,
the torch of man unfettered from himself,
burned across the world like plague.

The magic of the techne is complete.
The earth is covered in its spell,
except for cracks where paeans grow

like weeds in praise of sacred groves.

[William Clunie lives in Portland, Oregon.  He writes, sells rare books online, and reads the tarot professionally.]

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