With lightning skies above an open field,
Do you lie down in loam or hide beneath
The ash tree planted on the tumulus mound?
Do you take comfort in the soil of life
Or in the grafted branches fed with death?
I risk the tree, to hang in Odin’s wake
And face the fulminations of the wronged—
Of those I buried with Time’s eager spade
To wall them off from memory, to free
The limbs to hold another, while entombed
The dead await this rise to punish me.
So now, with lightning skies above, I let them.
\FUL-muh-nayt\ , intransitive verb;