Accessing the power in my body
swinging the axe, letting the weight of the blade
sing in my hands, I am but the metal's vessel

The axe slices through perception, the infinitesimal
roots clinging tightly to each bulb, each bloom
Not thinking, just moving, lift, ready
Aim, dropping the blade, cutting deep

Lift, ready, aim, swing, curling up to pull out
Roots detached from the cozy mud, cut in half
In thirds, gone, nothing left to cling to, now just
pieces for compost.

The bulbs come out easily when the roots are cut
And the stalks even more, obedient, freed from roots
so too with perceptions, desires, things not serving me –
all must be severed from the root

Let go of what has been, the beauty and company
of the green stalks in the shadow of this house
we must say goodbye, hack out the roots, and
allow new things to grow.