WHEN axe-struck through the core the trunk sways
shattering the upflung dignity of branches,
yank out the stump — even to the taproot’s tip.
Let grasses sprout.
Then say to the new love: A clearing lies
for you to path and plant. But if you would
be honest
add: Take care!
From one old deep-pierced spot a creeper rises,
resisting all, barbed with green leaves of hate.
It is a twisting thing that bears bright flowers in the
it might trip you up.