Ideas of fate can cow you,
and once, bowed and scarred by these,
I lived in a lime tree until I knew all the shallow fissures
and ridges of its linden wood, until I knew
each leaf, heart-shaped, was faithless
in the saw-edges of its green serration.
And I have heard it said that everything happens for a reason,
that events are destined - till every decency,
every abomination is homogenised -
this slavery of a belief
is the condemnation of the abused.
Disempowered, I passed all verdicts
dressed as a grey cloaked cuckoo,
all offerings brought before my tangerine eye,
though no bough could bear the weight of my consequences.
Here the small deaths of bees mid-harvest
scattered the herniated roots beneath
where even they have been misled by the bladed sweetness
of its blossom, when the sacrifices of these singing drones
wrested me from this bloom of shade.