The Clearing

Bringing their enemies on the trunks Of fallen trees in a clearing freshly Felled. The pitch will sweetly smell, The vulgar men will yell. All within earshot of the last Tenable plot for which our fathers Fought. And I will beg of you to Heed this awful crew in silence out of View. For if they take you in, They'll fall upon your skin for what you hold Within and cast your frame aside. They've taken fair brides and carved their soft Sides and left them out of doors where Lesser beasts roar and eager vultures Soar. Tie not your summer dress, let free your lily Breast, and take the wind's caress Beyond the hands of men who tear what cannot Bend, who break what cannot bend. Who build a fearful court to house their wicked Fort. What silver heads exhort that Guilty they are not of blood forever Rot, the sun will never clot. So clip the angel's wings and let the axes Swing. Till arms are a-hewed keen in Places falling deep. For even they must sleep and shelter they must Seek amidst their own debris. But over there stands a tree, and in its Shadow we may take a deeper kiss, Undress a broken fist. To love is to resist the old and bitter Flow, and the wind again will blow. The forest again will grow, and your eyes again Will shine like the pitch of the ancient Pine.