Eli Schleicher

& this sŭn birthed another



with tears in her face -



yellowed or gilded or faded or



green - whatever the sun fancied



for his willowed basement matter



& this sŭn watched another



with splinters at his sapling fingers



from the wood in his veins -



usher three men into the church



where his mother wore her veils



& this sŭn watched her



yearn to flourish when showers came -



unexpected - regular -



and she grew with each one



and she died for so much of each year



& this sŭn saw a boy almost



half the time - through mirrors - weeping



as she had constantly taught him



how to keep the wisps from lighting him



afire - aflame - a glow, distantly



& this sŭn called a meeting



when he was gaunt - taut - white



heat seeping from the crows in her smile



with dreamt messes of unfeeling limbs



- snap - bitten brittle - brittle together



& this sŭn wept



when he raised up the axe to



chop down a mother - child



for the gift of warm space



where new sprouts could breach