A barrel cast of porcelain I bear
A white-furred bull upon my waist reclines
The alabaster eggshell buried there
A hollow suffocated by design
I am, by ring, the oldest living tree
With form bereft of grace or limber charm
A prairie pale rolls forth atop my knees
Of silent waves composed into my arms
But ring and ring again supplants my will
As heat with yeast and dough will slowly swell
A tabby cat loved lazy, sweet and still
A sleeping pulse within a clownish shell
The valley miles above my buried chest
A place where, lying still, his head may rest