She is
the largest tree in our yard,
twice as tall as the house, I am guessing, though
the perspective is awkward for comparing.
Four or five feet in diameter at her base, with
a wide canopy, arms spread
to scatter her helicotpers into the already
full gutters, down the slide, the cracks
in the broken slate of the patio.

We pull seedlings from the sandbox, the fire pit.

Her reach extends,
dancing in the morning sun, shading the
yard all afternoon. It is too easy
to forget that she is hollow, a small
cave at her heart, large enough for my
daughters to hide in,
a wound so deep, she
is not long for this world,
and yet she reaches, she
dances.