carving a path

you bare
the yard of weeds,
vines,
poison ivy.
wildflowers.
something trying to become
a tree.
random bushes
overgrown,
the crawl of leaves,
the spines
of greenery
undefined, or known
to you.
you chop and cut,
pull with your bare hands,
spin
the wire across the yard
in broad strokes.
you even break out
in a whistle at some point,
hardly breaking a sweat
in the shadow
of your house,
carving a path from door
to gate.