Splitting Season

Set the round up on the block Grain runs crooked but I know the line Maul goes up and the cold drops off Down — the oak falls open, clean and fine Arms remember what the mind won't hold Every round the same — lift, strike, split The pile beside me growing old Each half lands where the last one sit The maul goes up The round falls open The maul goes up The round falls open Bark side out, the frost still on the skin Heartwood's dry, been standing dead two years I split along the checks already in — The wood was halfway gone before I'm here My shoulders find a thing they lost since spring That swing my body understands No thinking now — just set and swing The warmth comes back into my hands The maul goes up The round falls open The maul goes up The round falls open Stack what's split and fetch another round Boot it steady, step back, find the stance No wind yet — just the clearing and the ground Just the knock of steel and the cold's last chance The maul goes up The round falls open The maul goes up Twenty rounds and I forgot the cold The pile says more than I could say Set another up...