My dear father used to read Plath a lot. She was one of his favourite poets, which was pretty surprising for a man who had been sent to sea at the age of 13, and who had been born in 1918. This is for him, as January is not only the month my Mother died in, but also my Father.
Axes After whose stroke the wood rings, And the echoes! Echoes traveling Off from the center like horses. The sap Wells like tears, like the Water striving To re-establish its mirror Over the rock That drops and turns, A white skull, Eaten by weedy greens. Years later I Encounter them on the road--- Words dry and riderless, The indefatigable hoof-taps. While From the bottom of the pool, fixed stars Govern a life.