your will, of course, would 

eventually do the work 

driving a wedge between us

edging deeper into the

splintering cracks, slowly

revealing the tumour

that digested the bark

of our rotting timber

and sensing the end, an 

accumulated intent added 

weight to your will with 

exaggerated swings 

and staccatoed slashes 

of blades that finally did 

the felling, as silence found us

on this killing floor