In the Swing of an Axe

3 Feb

Too many believe things

begin. A high arc over the head

cutting cold autumn air. I’m trying

to say that life isn’t disease—no one

germ starts anything.  Muscles

in the shoulders tighten, and the sun glints

off the axeblade held perfectly in this

second. Right now is many forces

pulling many directions. The downswing falls

and splinters dig deep in calloused hands.  Ask

the dead how they died and they will say:

It would take a lifetime to tell you.

The axe works its lever action and cracks

into hard wood. Reddened leaves fall

to the ground. This happens again and again.

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