Classic Poem

At that moment you were leaning
on the blade of an ax.
Or it can also
be said, an ax
was leaning on your back.
Who else but an ax loved so much
your shieldlike back
that was appropriate
to the blade of an ax?
It could have been any morning.
For a wind to rise in the stone
the blade of an ax had only
to wake in the ax.
In the beginning of the value
of things that happen
only in the morning
the ax was pulled off the trunk
and struck into your back
gently, directly.
Like a rolling pin
the ax had a straight-faced handle
that had a golden-haired hand.
In the mountain area of the Caucasus, even now,
there are three republics
but the commercial custom
of buying back with a steel ax
what was sold
for twenty pieces of silver
remains as it was.
Exchanges of eyes as vivid as
the rainbow that spans from ax to back
make up the commerce in the Caucasus.
To the end of the earth where you lie
Caucasian prices
follow you
but the splendid value settled on you
is something
you must approve of firmly.