CARVEN

Smoke that choked the throat
Warmed the arm that chipped
The uncarved log between his feet
Where he sought the face of God.

Hard brittle bark, calmed by grace;
A deadwood deity, turned by blade.
A creator covered by dust and deed,
Unknown by his creation.

Unfounded in his empty cabin
No God for dissertation
He tossed his gods of wood
Onto a pyre of his own making.