ABSCISSION

Leaves fall from growing, not from death;

Nodes, when they break, leave breath.

 

Skin dries up, tips harden;

Not to die, but to garden.

 

Crystals run from base

To bark. Not to race;

 

But to park. Leaves fall

To make space. Young cells

 

Need the air. Stores

Spring from old scars;

 

Made-up, crinkled autumn

Unearths spring skin.

 

Nature cuts away to steer,

Decorates to shear.

 

Not for the tearing rout:

But so the roots reach out.