I lift the lopper off the hooks on the wall
and eye the bush, like a sculptor
imagining the shape inside a piece of marble
The flowers have faded, the leaves are curling up
and dropping to keep the roots warm.
It’s sad to cut back the old flower heads
to reach in and cut the green but errant branches,
but I feel freer as I reveal the shape that I imagine
when double the fullness comes back next year.
As the flowers come into bloom, it will draw the eye
and lift the heart.