Or solemnly
As pines are sober
When they stand etched
Against the sky
Hating you shall be a game
Played with cool hands
And slim fingers
Your heart will yearn
For the lonely splendor
Of the pine tree
While rekindled fires
In my eyes
Shall wound you like swift arrows
Memory will lay its hands
Upon your breast
And you will understand
Here the speaker explicitly identifies the previously implied arrows. However, she no longer needs this weapon since her fire has been “rekindled” and can thus inflict similar damage.
Hatred