Soundless
Because he laid the axe at the roots
clear blood oozed
through the sky holding branches
collapsing
in open buckets
weeping
like mama’s breast.
Questions cloud beneath the roof
in scented steam full of bees
Did you hear the falling tree?
The silent metal blade
a slow rising arc over the evergreens
miraged by street signs
marking the miles of a cold river
where boys strip away their secrets and swim.
Pamela Field 