Where logs line up to meet their fate, Kissing a blade on their very first date. Turning lumber to planks without much fuss, Enjoy the result, but pardon our dust.

I’m ammo much needed in a cold war fight. A snowy tradition for children’s delight.

Long and thin like an eel, can be stored on a reel. I myself am not alive, but carry what is needed for life.

Twiggy embrace holds, Gentle cradler in the trees, Feathered lullaby.

I borrow light and bend it wrong, to stretch the short and widen long. I don’t reveal what wasn’t there, I simply make it easier to stare.