And With Her, an Axe

Do not be upset, beloved

as you gather
thread at dawn. Forgive me still
when dusk arrives
and the cloth you've scavenged
from thorn and thistle
does not fit as my dress once did.

After you wonder aloud
the number of times we've loved each other
"...as butterflies, perhaps
or peasants, gods, orange trees, even..."

No, do not be upset
when you see
my quick retreat into the forest.

Think, darling
of the millions of fish
speckled and dying
that find their way back

to the waters of their ancestors
to the currents of their birth

blood of past lives
magnetic in their veins.

I too, am simply returning
to the spot where seeds have grown wild

to count the rings
and gift you with an answer.