Words

Sylvia Plath

Axes

After whose stroke the wood rings,

And the echoes!

Echoes traveling

Off from the center like horses.
.
The sap

Wells like tears, like the

Water striving

To re-establish its mirror

Over the rock
.
That drops and turns,

A white skull,

Eaten by weedy greens.

Years later I

Encounter them on the road—-
.
Words dry and riderless,

The indefatigable hoof-taps.

While

From the bottom of the pool, fixed stars

Govern a life.
.
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