THE TEMPTATION The tree was hollow and I stepped inside. The good round enclosing shut me in. I heard what an oak hears in the damp halfdark I chose. Skin grows in rings, eyes bark over, voice becomes a windy mutter. Sap like slow dynamite finds the secret brain. Lay at my feet the food or ornament you think will call me out. My joints are knobs of years and will not move.