As the axe handle twirls in my hands, spins, hangs over my head- it is all kinetic energy now turned potential. My deltoids arc the blade to apex. Backswing completed, it pauses, then back down its arc it sets a single tooth to split an old bone of a once living tree. In the wood chips, in the hair strands of this future kindling
I imagine human bones cracking- femurs and ulnas and mandibles, crushed under a Ball Pein hammer- powdered fine and white.
Snow flurries spot my canvas sleeves, crystals find my fingers, dust my hair- quickly melt. I gather the split wood in burlap. On the porch, I turn back once more- see Geese swoon low the valley's lake, hear the ringing through the pines, then turn the latch, go inside to burn old bones.