I am piling pieces to burn, cutting nail-pocked
hemlock into chunks, metal teeth sawing
someone else’s name from wood. I am demolishing
this house part by part, a meticulous death. Rebuilding
resurrecting; fresh sheets of fir and whitened trim infusing
two new souls. We sit atop a cliff watching green river
pass – blood through veins of earth – staring at a hungry fire
trapped by circular moss-covered standing stones. I heave
branches to this center pit, ceaselessly falling limbs, fingers
clutching rock as I drag them. I am a god erecting towers on
muddy ash, staying sentences with birch-pine smoke.
I am a goddess, wet with power, arranging broken soldiers
like kindling – grains of dirt under my fingernails – flaked
elm-skins swirling my head like gray, drifting souls.