an unrehearsed universe

Split Down the Middle

Planted firmly
immune to time and the slow burn
the acre of sycamores remained unyielding
in exactly the way of her fists small hands
ground into the fleshy part of ample hips
embodiments of unmoving anger

unmoved

a lover unbound
unwound the fabric of demonstrably
false remonstrations
one last tug bare branches signaling
a false footpath to freedom
deeply rooted the foundation unraveling
gravel pavement
devolved into the primal state
fear of the hunter

taste
of the hunted

saw leaping in hand excitement out of hand
buzz through wood aged into saline barriers
white pickets of muddy blue eyes
higher than he had previously dared climb
falling deaths best left to leaves

no guarantees

those helpful hurtful hands stay clenched
always at the ready
a small push up over
cracked him in spirit also
the tree tumbled in a flurry of anguish
reverberating crack of silence
logged by no one but himself
an acre of sycamores minus one;

her tree fell.