It is a Tree

by Patsy Creedy

It is a tree
A bird
The sea
My breast
Their bodies
Small perfect shells

Sorrow entered
Our bed
Body
Baby
Slanted Breath

Some day
Will you ache
Like I ache
Burl in the base
Of this tree

Rounded darkness
Right for
The only doing
There can be

My shell
That of an insect
A scarab
An etched womb
New shells
Drawn from
Memory

A scar
The dried
Place
Of it
Pulled out
With the forest tide