The Arboresses

They came to cut
                                                                                                     To amputate
                       Thursday
                                                                                                    Friday
                                                Even Saturday
Disrupting my labored concentration
                                                                                 Turning up the barometer
                                                Cool, steel pressure cooker

                                       A quiet moment sought me Sunday

                                                            Today.
                              Lifted my chin

                                                                                                      There.

                                                           There.

                                             Limbs long and bare,
                            Tips laden light with bright, leafy cymbals
                                                           Poised
                                    Awaiting the first beat of breeze

                                               To begin their dance

                          

                                                         At dusk.