killing two trees
not a lumberjack, no
not even an arborist
I spent a day
a full day limbing two trees,
pretending the lie of pruning.
in the eighteenth century
(the age of reason, we're told)
a guillotined head
would thunk
thickly into the merciful basket.
the eyes, for a second, two,
still bound unreasonably to the
world,
would scan quickly
with the finest wonder.
the tree turned away
from the giving sky
and shsh'd to the ground.
it hit the earth like a giant's fist.
how could a sound be so loud?
it shivered then, supine.
a thousand twigs whip the air,
a thousand whispered accusations.
the stillness came at last,
the air so slow, so slow to mend.
and then I saw
what I'd seen before:
a color not Linnaean,
a green untold,
a mottled gold
climbing the length
of the downed trunk.
climbing no more; now lost.
now lost.
9/30/2021
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