another limb 

a man flourishes a saw, 
cuts the arms of a red maple
back from the telephone wires 
again-- limbs falling to the street &
turning immediately into ghosts--
thin twisted figures who 
saunter aimless for a few moments
before they get their bearings.
they try to understand themselves
severed loose from 
the tree's body. the chattering
saw asks me to watch
as his man works-- the care
as he presses the machine 
into thicker & thicker places
on the maple's body. i wonder
if i'm the only one who 
notices how this tree is 
a collection of questions--
a knot of phantoms. i want
to ask what it is the tree
plans to do with the telephone wires--
if the tree might wrap
its gnarled fingers 
around the electric threads
to play cat's cradle
or maybe just to be 
one step closer to ripping
off a piece of sky. i also
want to rip off a piece
of sky. i should ask the tree 
if it's resentful about the small
bit of soil it stands in:
the sidewalk a thick skirt
around its waist--
& the tree limb ghosts
disperse-- not looking back
as if they intend to never
return to the maple now
that they've been cut loose--
some turn into birds & perch 
in rafters-- some stay humanesque 
& sit on stoops-- others climb
the telephone poles as if 
they were acrobats,
all the while the man with
the saw doesn't notice,
just keep dipping his device  
into the bark-- a spattering
of wood dust-- the snap
of another limb--
i think for a faint
moment that maybe 
that's where i came from--
that maybe i was a tree limb 
trying to grab telephone wires--
the man with the saw pressing
into my torso-- a kind of division--
maybe i wanted to hold the wire 
in an attempt to hear
voices that might 
clamor inside-- maybe i,
like the maple i watch--
might have also just wanted 
to get closer to dipping
my fingers into sky,
tearing a hunk down--
i would hold that piece 
close & show no one.