On Waking to Tree Removal

Orange helmets on brown jackets
outside my window
before cloud light drips over
silent rowhouses

Cranes with double-jointed reach
prod a dead pin oak
onto the pavement just as
the first spring rain falls

Yellow contraptions on trucks
split wood to splinters
sawdust coats commuter shoes
and my compost pile

Shavings form paths on my porch
that I kneel to trace
with my fingers and I’m back
making wood castles

in my father’s studio
where all this is a painting
and beyond the open panes
are miles of breathing oaks

 

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3 thoughts on “On Waking to Tree Removal

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