Down in the Valley of Hollow Logs

Down in the valley of hollow logs
two lovers lay in the weeds
safe in the net of their sweaty arms
safe from the wind in the trees.
"My love," said the boy. "You're the clear blue sky,
you're the air I gulp to breathe.
I feel you rushing through my veins
like the wind rushing through the trees."
"My love," said the girl, "You're my secret pearl.
You're a string of tiny glass beads.
You're a burning star I keep in a jar
safe from the wind in the trees."
Down in the valley of hollow logs
two lovers lay back in the weeds
listening to the howl of hunting dogs
and the wind howling through the trees.
Then insects ran for the underbrush
as the wind filled the air with dead leaves
and every stone turned slowly to dust
as the wind tore through the trees.
So the young girl pierced her lily-white breast.
Her blood poured over dark weeds.
A silver dagger through her burning heart,
cold as the wind in the trees.
Then the boy picked up that bloody knife
and stove it through his chest.
"Farewell, farewell to the wind and the trees.
I'll die with the one I love best."