Last night I laid my hands 
on the elephant skin of the 
oldest tree in my yard, 
a hackberry that shaded 
this house for sixty years. 
I told her what was in store. 

This morning I stayed inside 
as the crew of nine strong 
men maneuvered with ropes   
and chainsaws and a boom 
truck to bring her down 
limb from ailing limb and 
turn her bones to dust. 

They raked smooth the place 
where her roots had held her   
fast to this earth only hours 
before, her soul free to fly now   
with all of her sisters, the 
songbirds and crows who 
could show her the way home.