Since men have climbed down from them, they’ve climbed in,
not just as children, for the look-out leaf
enclosure, height, or grandeur’s branched origin.
Beside sequoias, our own lives are brief,
our needs for fruit or wood cultivated
on such slow movement, such a rooted claim
to be so here so now, so situated,
extending growth in circled, mute xylem.
It stood, the ash, too this, too that, between
our neighbors’ house and ours, enormously
resplendent, shading us through summers, green
as being, even greener, but less free.
For when we said when, when it was, and then
in came the truck and up the ladders climbed the men.