Catch

Generations of stars flirt as night whistles a chill over the green. Mowed fresh, I root into damp grass. Old Spice cedar, the boys and I bark the same.

You appear bundled, late May still strident on the ears. Street lights shiver and shadow your face. Axe, you toss. Aim to hack me a new mouth. A side doll. For a while, we play catch until you give me your back, having carved all you needed. Both of us crying yet only

I kneel and make an altar. Axe heel takes flakes of us, peel of cheek and sliver of nail already freezing. Woods all around, you chose me to cut down.