“Bound” is a richly polysemic word. Ambiguous enough to be central in a @d-pend poem.
Bound can mean things as distant as leaping strides, and boundaries or limitations; it can also mean to head in a given direction, be destined or doomed, be confined to a place.

In a way, trees seem to bridge all these meanings.
They are confined, but they stretch, move, invade spaces, sometimes destroying and overcoming their confinement.
We need trees as much as we need air or food or soldiers: some can protect us, some can kill us. Thus, control.

A planned exclusion of limbs and legions,
sorts, assortments: gems and sequins.

Which ones get to be trimmed and doubly-confined for decoration? Which ones get to grow as much and as freely as they can? It may be random decisions or well-planned ones.

I wonder if “unloof” spellplays on “aloof” with the same meaning or making it an opposite, just like unlighting means darkening. Would “unloof” mean friendly? Closer?
In any case, we have this image of lines of trees (?) casting shadows, alleviating lies, revisiting proven wrong decisions that raise expectations and multiple disappointments.

The illusion of order we demand from trees, we also demand from people, food or soldiers

demands me taut, and gaunt and lean
to be uncross life lets me in—
where bound trees o'er-extend

Thus, life grants us access if we abide by the rules, if we confine ourselves to law and order; only, like the trees, we tend to overextend and test the limits of bounding.