tree cutting addiction 

i used to practice bird calls 
in the closet. played a recording
of wrens & blue jays. my phantom beak
a deck of cards. how can i describe
the relief of falling. if you have seen
a tree fall you have seen 
stars spat like cherry pits.
i collect my requests of god. rot from
inside out. leaves piled up to my neck.
i pleaded with an angel to let
our one tree live. there is a tree
in the city i promised to visit again.
something tells me she is leveled
& that only her roots still speak.
i watched a house being demolished 
& i thought, "the only thing that returns
is wreckage." sparrows sew each hole
in our quilted afternoon. planting 
light bulbs so that they might yield
future street lamps. i walked 
arm in arm with a great oak 
just to take him to be made into 
the stilts of a beach house. 
gazed off at the sea. watched horses
trek across the water's surface.
i do it without even thinking.
the chainsaw & the need for lumber.
if the tree must be dismembered 
i always want to be 
the one do to it. this is selfish 
i know. i hoard the wood. stacks
of necks. collared shirts worn
to see god. an axe clutched 
in one hand. green as a new promise.
trees walking with veils on.
roaming in search of every leaf lost.
gathered in their arms. i lead them
to their bodies. the ash or 
the beams. i say, "i am sorry,
i can't help it."

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