the killing of a conifer

I listened to  
my three feathered sisters  
magpies muttering faint flakes  
 
cosmogenic cosmonauts  
it is not history  
that haunts us  
some can be defined  
as road betwixt signs  
fate, faith, destiny  
 
we have to accept it  
these inquisitions  
did you hear these roaring blades?  
when our severed head  
served not upon a plate  
fell solaced soulfully  
 
we mourned saw dust  
called for crow  
our beloved has fallen  
he remains as curled curved smoke  
signaling us from chimneys  
 
we scented our song  
each cremation  
we remember him  
o apple of mine eyes  
 
return as a page  
read into me  
 
 
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