Summer 2013 • Vol. XXXV No. 3 PoetryJuly 1, 2013 |

Chains

I took the chains down to the hardware store to have them sharpened on the grinding wheel. It was the day before the day of rest, so I worked some more when I returned, gathering branches in a pile, starting a fire, tending the flames until they disappeared at dawn and I went inside to lie with her, the Queen of Trees, who had waited for me throughout the night, breathing her lullaby now beneath the quilt, emitting the sweet eternal scent of the future against my stench, leading me with her beauty alone into the dark where I dreamed of the trees I felled still falling in that slow intractable way they fall at first, then faster in their swift descent that takes forever it seems despite their speed since in the time between the second the tree begins to fall and the moment it hits the ground, a man has time to write his epitaph on the stone inside his head and lay some flowers as well on the mound that rises up before him like a wave wherever he stands.

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