within the silence of dawn I can hear
echoes of an axe-blade
falling

the heartwood lies open now, exposed
with quartered rings showing
maturity

through the bright air this mountain
rises now, saying: Winter
is coming

my years of growing deep
in the forest have brought me
to this --

this Love at last ready
for burning, within the silence
of dawn I can hear

echoes of a matchstick drawn
across flint, the first
stars ignited

within the mingling of our breath at last
set free, and I can hear
You entering. . .