The tree seems dead,
winter-clad in early June.
Naked twigs miss their leaves;
like I do, I miss them too.

My fat neighbor
with a few soft cuts
made the tree quite bare.
A sorcerer!

We can prune
things we fear grow astray.
In this zest we are best
sorcerers,
murderers.

All that's left
by this urge to prune
is a naked tree
in early June.