sinner's pine

Beneath the sinner's pine
he raised his eyes to mine.
A rope and sinner's stare
I knew his purpose there.
Asked I his grief and name
and from what place he came.
He said,

"My grief is mine to know,
my name no longer know.
Within my mind I dwell,
a cold and cramped cell."
Tied he while he spoke
around his neck the rope.
I wept for him.

"Stranger, weep not," he said,
"See, I have long been dead.
Here seven summers died
beneath this tree of mine.
Thus now I'll take my sleep.
Thus no more winters keep
to pass alone.

But I spoke as to a friend,
"This need not be your end.
I'll take your hand and, see,
we'll find a truer tree."
Asked he in reply,
"What matter where if I
be still the same?"

Thus we stood a time
beneath the sinner's pine.
And as the moon eclipsed the sun
and the stars above me swung,
my knees gave way, I fell
to the earth or into hell.
I know not where.

I woke upon the sand,
the edge of some brighter land.
The shore, she kept her curve
as the sea made love to her. I said,
"Brother come leave your tree,
come look upon the Sea.
upon the sky."