At night the trees
Move of their own accord.
Control for me is not
A real thing, but something
Of a fantasy.

A fallacy.
A lie.
White in its innocent,
But poisonous by its touch.
One can never be loved
Too much.

I wake with the morning.
Sun over my scarlet covered eyes.
Her breathing like that of
The wind; effortless and a mystery.
She says she is nothing but happy,
But I can sense her misery.

Calluses line my hands and as
The dawn turns to morning. I put
The coffee and tea on for boiling.
Creatures of habit spinning with the Earth
For all eternity until death do us part.

In my reflection, I see glimpses of my younger self.
Tools rusted neon orange and dark brown.
He hands me the hatchet that rests heavy in my hands.
He says something as he puts down his Budweiser can.
I bring the metal head down.

Are we not split like two pieces of wood?
Do we not have two opposites within us?
One wants what the other does not?
I inch out of bed and put on my socks.
There is a new day outside and just like the rest.

The thick pine branches adjust themselves to the sun.
I hold my hatchet and tea.
She stays sleeping, gentle like a bullet less gun.
I put my tea down and listen to the lack of sound.
A riddle so complex, yet so simple.

Opposites.

Blue drops of the sky fall on my face and I blink.
Sometimes the minds too busy to even think.
I bring the hatchet down again and again,
Wondering what time my lady will wake today.
I turn to look at our home, our shrine, our castle.
The logs are cherry brown, pound for pound.

The river trickles near me.
It sounds like diamonds rattling in someone's pockets.
A crow calls from above me.
I look up and see nothing there.
Must have scared it off.

Dead pine needles snap and crack under my boot.
My throat feels like a chimney clogged with soot.
We used to use a broom to clean everything back then:
The roof, the kitchen floor, even the oven.
When we had no money is when we were the happiest.

Time stands still for no one, except for people in love.
Father was left alone because mama said she had to go.
A pistol and a weak heart took him away a year later.
No one but my two sisters and I left behind.
I take out an orange, peel it, and throw away the rinds.

Misology hovers near my ears, inviting despair
A cradle cracks in the back of my mind.
Hours pass and I've got a block four feet wide and four feet high.
She - my lady - is up now and I turn to wave at her on the porch.
A wave to me and a smile too.
She promises a back rub later as well as rabbit stew.

I plant my axe into the soft, cool ground and go inside.
Two eggs, a piece of toast, and a class of water greets me.
A full heart has no need for appeasement.
Only a worried mind needs to give itself a reason.
Breakfast is finished and the sun is perched at high noon,
So I take my gun from its shelf and walk outside.

Rabbits don't just jump
Into pots of boiling water

All by themselves.