A forest of trees
the lumberjack fells one
at first
shoulder arc
heavy swings of beef
thwack, thwack
thwack, thwack
electric crackles, silent as the ax meets
middle tree, peeling back bark
it hits the ground,
timber
one by one
sawdust piles
woodchips
oligarch, desert of stumps
if you allow it
silence fills
as if
nothing
only death
About the Creator
Michele Nampalli
This space is breath for my sensitivity. The poems come fully formed. I've known for quite some time now that my art is about receiving more than creation...its the most natural way I know to process my inner world. It started when I was 7.
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