nobody remembered her name or her face
or the pale of her wrists
by the edge of her lace
no one remembered the man or his name
who sunk his axe deep
in the wood
in the yard
in his sleep
only the wind still whispered her name
through the gaps and the floors
through those walls
made of wood
and wrung out the leaves of the trees
just like hands
to remember the others
the other ones who had died
there
two and twenty years before
and twice as long
before then
and twice as long
before then
and twice as long
before then
K IS SILENT 