Willow Wood

Is it you, really?
There in the story,
Peeking from the words

Like something hiding
In winter thickets
It uses for home?

Somehow, we doubt it.
You’re more the creature
Chewing on the bark,

Curling back your lips
And ripping off strips,
What twigs must survive.

No, that, too, seems wrong.
You’re not really there.
We’re really here. You

Startle us into
Thinking you’re with us.
But you’re not. We’re us.