“and even you forgot those brilliant flashes seen from afar” -Ruth Stone

Panpsychist with Ax

I break the amber gray log
in a clean stroke, grunt
and find
beetle grubs slumbering
2 hidden branches
neatly 90º skewed
I know so little

that I cannot say
if they were half formed things, babes held to the heartwood breast,
then dead
in the womb.
old, broken and
enveloped scars
the tree held within her
even months after she was felled.

Wait long— the day is long!

See the flickering lights in a coming dark suede and I
know so little
cannot nod to Venus,
or galaxies like M81 and M82
(a categorical nomenclature that denies the personal or
Those poor,
bright beings
I forget their names, and in a fit of social anxiety
to avoid embarrassment,
I pretend I don’t see them
and hurry inside.

Days away from society and strife
6 feet apart at home
waiting for trilliums, waiting for
suet consciousness
and waiting
to get good
with my ax.

Appears in this issue

Candace Jensen is a visual artist, writer, calligrapher, letterpress printer and tantric, as well as a budding herbalist and gardener.

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