The neighbor out there back against the shed

The neighbor out there, back against the shed.

A handsaw, eating slow into the wood.

That rhythmic pull, the sawdust, finely spread.

He leaned into it, just as he should.

And then, that sound, a sudden, clean crack.

The log fell, two separate pieces on the ground.

No turning back, no way to put it back.

Just two halves now, where one was found.

That sharp, resinous smell, new and raw.

Something severed, for a purpose, it seemed.

Just a clear division, a fundamental law.

A single piece, now perfectly redeemed.