Gifts and Shards Vol 1

The Shears

Again and again and again until
it becomes a compulsion, the shears snap
soft privet stems, but yet more privily,
by set of smile and light in eye, you know
yes, you know it is you that I am cutting;
and now again so close to you in murder.
Oh, the renewing joy of green slaughter
as the loud birds celebrate midsummer.

The shears are so robust I clear a path
to hack apple limbs, severing your arms
legs, fingers, toes. I said weed no flowers,

but someone pulled a forget-me-not. Oh
delicate and tender. I kiss you there
and put you straight in a glass of water.