A Whipsaw Takes Two Men

Two men are as one, or they are a single
mirror-backed man, or they are seamed

sides of each other; and two men are as one
who hews hard to himself, who will not fall

far pieces apart if he falls at all. The tree will not
overbalance above them no matter how long

they stay: a hundred years in and they are
half-dead; their eyes stand out as if on sprays

and they stem from each other everywhere:
four arms are outstretched ivy on long limbs

sawing uprising ivy on long limbs down.
Two men are unswerving to each other

and sway in the understory, until two men
are whittled down to ladder and at last

give way; two men are as one and the tree
will lay roads in their overrun bodies,

the tree will fall and leave them to
wax worse and worse with living things.

Copyright © 2009 Patricia Lockwood All rights reserved
from Copper Nickel
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission