A month ago, the ferns beneath the tree
were old and rusty-looking, so he chopped
them down, and left brown clumps for me to see.
I moved toward him as if I would have stopped
his shears, but then he pointed to the wee
and pin-curled fronds beneath the spears he’d cropped.
I’m glad I let him prune and pulverize,
for now new chartreuse growth eye-gratifies.