axes
after whose stroke the wood rings
and the echoes!
echoes travelling
off the centre like horses.
the sap
wells like tears, like the
water striving
to re-establish its mirror
over the rock
that drops and turns
a white skull,
eaten by weedy greens,
years later i
encountered them on the road--
words dry and riderless,
the indefatigeable, hoof-taps.
while
from the bottom of the pool, fixed stars
govern a life.
--words, sylvia plath.
