trees are still bare
but buds  bulge
branches speak more
of dance
than scratch 

this time of year
the still barren landscape lies
replete with potential
roots are drinking
from wells deep within the earth
an elixir
that will crown trees in a
             glory of green 

you severed your prospects
with a thin bit of yellow nylon
on a remarkably small
branch of evergreen
your feet
just
four inches
from the ground — so close
so final

your hand came up
a bit
a salute ?
a farewell ?