To Prune the Juniper
Your branches stretch upon the calm of lawn
to reach up to the sun without control
with sheer aggressive cleaning of my soul,
within a few, removed forever gone.
As rough edges of the hedge find smooth space,
why do we fear this release of our pain
while knowing this Peace will increase our gain,
to find ourselves too involved with the race.
So here I stand with pruning blade in hand,
a ritual to perform every year
when branch of pine will fall upon the ground.
A responsibility to my land
to work against the apathy of fear
attempt to create beauty with space found.
II. To Prune
In spots where needles have turned darkened brown
I saw away the branch from place of birth
now dead the wood no longer holds a worth
this chaos found in death will settle down.
I swear within this space where I create
an angel hides in fear of my sharp blade
where mice run quick to hide from sudden raid
and branches pile as they accumulate.
This thinning down exposes holes of rot
where green of birth is lost within the dark
I hope this pruning helps to shine a light
to bring some balance as I work on lot,
a path of ants upon this removed bark
and to the blind I hope the bring some sight.
III. In Conclusion
With hopes this brush will grow up to the sun
once morning rays can filter to the soil
and life will find a way through all this toil
where water now finds freedom in its run.
These foreigners to here, this grass, this bush
that shades the desert toad and Cicada
now builds a life around an agenda
of seasonal pruning to keep things lush.
To choose the isolation of this task
over excitement of companionship
so maybe one day someone stays to see.
This Juniper is old and wears no mask
as I remove with pruners in my grip
a time between these branches pruned and me.