Split Wood, not Atoms

give me a maul of decisiveness and a splittin’ round of sage foundation, and i will change my swing on things. i will wedge into my conscience: temperance like a green log, unseasoned for burning, hesitant— but with the pull of the freeze, splits, separates, sacrifices itself; the hollow sound of fullness, sonorous in wood under the sway of ice (frosty siren of night and clarity?) and a glimpse of the scarlet horizon; the swooping arc of an axe midair— the threat of precision and plea of narrow aversion; ffwa-chunk! connection, but no division and lift axe locked in log, and schwunk! silence as two promises of warmth breach and fly from one; the devotion of simplicity imbued in sweat