After the Rope Breaks

A crow caws

From the skeletal branches

Of the dying tree before me.

It jutts out,


From the rocky waste

Where I lie broken.


A squirrel scampers up and down

Its rotten trunk,

And in my fog

I think he is


Carrying insults

Between the eagle

And the serpent.


I try to shout at him,

Tell him to stop,

But my mouth is dust–


And tasting of chalk.

All that comes out

Is a sputter.


The world spins.

I heave and retch

From the coppery scent

Of coagulation

Filling my nostrils.



I look to the tree,

Searching for Hangi,

But there is just a dying tree,

And no secrets,

This time,

To pull from the well.





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