, , ,

there are women with hair like trees,

evergreen goddesses, smiling in

the summer, laughing in

the winter.  I can see behind them,

even when they dance, even when bears

tumble through them and you wait

at the foot at the marble sculpture that

you don’t understand.  Its a man

crying while using his terse bow.  Where

is he aiming, says the inscription.  I ask,

from behind the surrounding women, is

he aiming to kill?