Two short haiku look at the damage insect larvae do to locust trees. Leafminers tunnel inside the leaves, eating the tissue and leaving them thin, pale, and ragged. Instead of simply complaining about the harm, the speaker notices something odd and almost pleasing in it. In the first haiku, the leaves now "get more of the sky / than just sunlight." The damage lets the sky show through, so the trees seem opened up, as if they've been given a new kind of access to the air around them.
The second haiku turns wry. The locusts look "as if / they've been eaten by locusts," a joke that plays on the word "locust," which is both a tree and a swarming insect. The speaker seems amused rather than angry. The mood is quiet, observant, and lightly humorous, with a sense of looking closely at something damaged and finding it strangely interesting, even a little beautiful.