Standing on the upper deck overlooking the birches

he feels his spirit there in the bark, in the trunk, in

the veins moving out to the leaves and floating

into the air.

Then the tree trimmer comes, climbs the ladder

reaching up and out to the branches.

Breath is cut short, chest tightens,

suffocation strangles

as he hears the branches scream and tumble

to the ground. He grabs his inhaler and draws

deeply, knees buckling; he’s holding

onto

the railing for dear life.  The  tree trimmer and

his assistant nonchalantly rake up the branches

and toss them in the trailer. They gasp,  bleed

white blood

onto each other’s wilting leaves and expire.

He reaches for a seat coughing violently,

gasping, sucking air where the

oxygen is now too thin.