The Trunk

The trunk grows round the center
Ripples rippling round a wound
The core
Round and round and round again
Circles circling circles.
None thought of a seed till now
As a wound.
Creation as a violation...
The trunk is not at fault when the blight sets in.
It suffers as all suffer:
Through pain and pain and blinding pain
That settles in to roost,
Crying loudly in its nest
While the trunk cries loudly
Without escape.
And yet, it stands firm,
Holding up to wind and water
And sun and storm
And cloud and love
Until it falls
As all must fall.
But, the trunk is not the tree.