I heard someone crying
alone in the woods
there is no tree
strong enough to lean on.
Everything was silent
the sun left
there was only stillness
and the delicate release
of a dagger drawn out.
*
Through dense trees
the sun is smaller
the woman in tears
is harder to see, past the bushes
a life is being taken
by her hand, now a cradle
for remorseful cheeks
soft splinter of sun, catches the blade
in union of the dead and the living
both silent and remote.
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