a tree goes down

as the tree
goes down, being
cut
slowly from the top
one limb
at a time.
the workers
tied to the trunk,
tethered
with orange
and black
safety
lines, in hard
hats.
with leather
gloves,
wipe sweat from
their brows,
their sunburned
faces.
worried
with falls,
and wires,
the buzz of saws
heavy
in their hands.
there is no room
for error,
no place in their
minds
to sort out
love, or life,
what tomorrow
might bring
every step
is in the moment
of this tree
that took so long to
grow, now
going down.