The Pando

Seizing her axe she brought it down with blows

One altered morning when the same sun rose

Differently on her than him, which meant

She knew the backyard aspen’s lease was spent.

It fell to him to prise the stump’s grudge out.

And yet how intergrown he was with doubt

About it all, as whether a given tree

Were ever uprooted really, or ought to be;

Whether the nettedness in everything

Meant that to strike at one root could only bring

Stress to the covenants of knotted love

Beneath our feet we’ve no conception of.