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The Swastika Tree


Like a wasp in the middle of four woodland corners
Wings spreading wide to the deep open reeds
Counting the rings bears the age of the tree
The counting of sheep is the wasp coming clean

Slow melting maiden her stars intercede
Out of the sleepwalking dream talker's reed
As the seeking hand pulls out the stinger in me
I ride on the crossbones of Kali set free

The legions are many in the four wicked corners
In secret surveillance the first time we hesitate
We do it the same
If it feels more dishonest
The first time the future is nothing but shame
No matter how we try you know nothing is the same

The first time we find a last time for anything
You whisper to me that you have a secret
Does it make you suspicious if I make a promise?
Will you meet me tomorrow?
If you think you can keep it

We whispered in evening when the wedding was over
Proverbial schemes of the carpenter bee
But the dead they keep walking
Don’t know why
They’re not talking about
The four corners
Of the swastika tree

© 2022 Blake Ford Hall

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