Seizing her axe she brought it down with blows
One altered morning when the same sun rose
Differently on her than him, which meant
She knew the backyard aspen’s lease was spent.
It fell to him to prise the stump’s grudge out.
And yet how intergrown he was with doubt
About it all, as whether a given tree
Were ever uprooted really, or ought to be;
Whether the nettedness in everything
Meant that to strike at one root could only bring
Stress to the covenants of knotted love
Beneath our feet we’ve no conception of.
