january i bared it
spoke the future forth
named the day
laid my neck on its block
as the game requires

eyes open
ungirdled
so i said to myself

when the axe swung
i flinched once
snatched my head back
into the hard shell
of my armor
and the bargain broke there

whether you went dark
to punish or spare me
i do not know

the fae king keeps
his green counsel

but here is the thing i kept
knotted where it does not show:

the small green hope
i wore all spring
under everything
and told no one
so that i could keep wearing it —

the still-bleeding nick
from that edge