Vista’s Tree
For dropping limbs
the tree will be shorn,
a shaman’s spell
against danger.
White-bucketed
man with chainsaw
deconstruction.
Not a foot from my eyes
the ruby hummer
flashes for nectar.
Claws curling,
forelimbs dancing
the cat clips my arm.
Chipper, blower
drown the screams.
First his mother’s toes,
then both legs
lopped to the knees.
Drifters next spring —
the screech owl
& countless nesters.
How many cuts
before the heart furls?
Devil-may-care squirrel
billows his tail
not two feet from
the cat’s quiver.
Already I’m forgetting
the shiny green.
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