A killing comes
Early one morning awoken
By saws running chopping
At limbs told as it
Were to clean things up
And make this high
Shouted beauty
Disappear out
Of fear that a certain
Everyday cunning
Occurs weather
Storm winds might knock
Her against fright toss her
To ground the tauten
Tight men have come
With saws sharpened
To carve her apart slice
Her to pieces ancient
Pain slicing whispered
Limbs inevitable
Whispering these are
The things that I do the
Things that are good
And right and true even
Identical thatched
Killing comes
Early one
Morning limbs
Wave in the wind
Everything as it should
Be out of
Fear of an Absalom
Pretender killing
Comes ancient
Pain leaves only
One crutched hole in the
Earth where her sacred
Scarred body once
Crashed
To the ground.
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