Now. But not yet.
Stark, unmade tree
Violating Earth & Sky
Constructed to mock
Me and my sin
Us and our sin
Broken tree
For a broken body In a broken world.
The cross is wrongfulness on a hill.
And then
after a spread of poison hours
Logos asserts
to women’s witness
and the killing tree resolves to smooth-hewn wood
Earth & Sky clasp fingers, but no more.
The wood waits for its Real form.
Now, but not yet.
The method.
I watched the end of Last Tango in Paris the other day.
That scene
where Maria’s character
shoots Marlon’s character, and good job too.
I liked the way he died.
No glassy eyes staring up, limbs thrown about
like firewood.
But a gentle drop,
a curling inwards,
koropiko.
A gentle holding of the self,
corralling that escaping life,
to breathe it back in.
Not out.
Not yet.
Please.
Sparrowhawk/Kārearea 