Beech

bark
sags around branch stubs

like the
flesh of ancient ones

a gaping
mouth

opens to a
heartless interior

empty eye sockets tilt over

the
misshapen nose

the body
lists and leans heavily

on one
rooted foot

twisted
limbs rake the sky

tiniest twigs
finger the icy wind . . .

my self-conscious
mythical imaginings

chopped
short

by scampering up and around

the stony
trunk

as a
carefree squirrel

darts into my Medusa’s mouth.