Níedgedál

Axe in hand.
Night will fall.
I whip my sling-band,
and bloody a furry haul.
Tromp into the forest that kills so much
time–conquering these wilds with a touch.

Deep in the woods, I spot,
a tree whose branches wave to me.
Rounded pupils and face blurred.
Lean black muscles tense to taut.
Many teeth smile gleefully.
From no mouth comes the word:

“Níedgedál.”

Forest silent, transfixed by this wretch.
I cannot fight–he won’t delay.
It’s nails snag, and long arms catch.
My mind and soul are torn away.
I am gone, and yet alive.
Somehow my mind still survives.