Knowing how you loved the children

I fixed them to the trees
so they wouldn't run away.
So you would stay.

And you remained silent
and never questioned my bloody palms
or reproached me about the children
because they didn't laugh and play.
It couldn't last, of course.
No new children came and those crucified
were taken by small animals or simply
disappeared from the nails.
I was sure then that you would leave me.

Finally I confessed.
Trembling, I brought you the hammer
and showed my broken fingers.
Leaves and branches in my hair,
the diagrams of Autumn
on the sky.

And you smiled and said it didn't matter
about the children
and drank at my tears
like a rare and fragile wine
that they too would not be wasted.