My left hand became a web of roots.
I seized a rock, pulled it open
all at once instead of over many years —
thus, the power of will over instinct,
of intent to destroy as a power itself.

You may not question the truth of this.
All you are allowed to do is accept
that my hand gnarled and twisted and rooted
in the stone and pulled it to pieces, that I wanted to
do that, and that what should take years took seconds.

You are not allowed to shiver.
Fear is forbidden as disbelief is forbidden,
as is any knowledge more detailed than I’ve already given
about how the deed was done.  It’s enough,
I think, for you to know what I am capable of,

or what I can convince you I am capable of.
What if I am lying?  Enough to know I thought this up —
this rock breaking, this tree-handedness, this secrecy.
It’s a religion if you believe me, a threat if you don’t.
Or perhaps I’ve reversed those two?  No matter;

just don’t show fear and everything will be fine.
Everything will be dandy;
you can watch the rocks shattering.
We can hold hands while it happens, my beauty;
we can party, and bullshit, and party, and bullshit, and…