Heart Twinges.

As I watch, the insects
the little woodcutter ants
tie their rope around its branches,
harness the life that reaches for the sky,
pull the other end back to their truck,
bring themselves to safety.

For several long minutes
one ant uses its orange-paint-plastic-metal jaws
to saw away at its trunk.
Its feet touch the dust I drew my life into,
Its hands paw the tree that grew
from the tears of my first heartbreak.

I wait for minutes--
Watch--
and see the thumbs-up.
The ants' truck jerks backward.
Up, up, up, the hope I've always had
in me reaches.
They pull down the branches
that have tried so long to touch the sky.

It was a Monday-
I hugged her, breathed in her warm golden fur-
the branches crash to the ground.
I wander, rest my forehead against the tree again,
drink in my memories - dreams - I can't stand to see things die-
the quivering stops, slowly,
the branches that flew from my heartache
die.

I look down. My hands are shaking.