if you live to be a thousand 
you can be hollow too, everything you collected
in your short life
dispensed 

never the whole story — it would take centuries
by which time the next hollow tree would take your place

wolves are howling outside. fungi barnacle up 
their hind legs

a thousand years 
is too short, still. in the tree, it’s warm; warmer
than your warmest day

icicles gather on mushroom spores. the singing
the singing 

happiness is a wet state, a wolf howl
that never tapers off       but is swallowed
into the trees

skin never stood a chance against fur, an armour
not so different 
from bark

trees and wolves emit
the same sound. most things do, at a thousand
years old

the wolf
the tree of it following

Manahil Bandukwala is a writer and visual artist. She is the author of Heliotropia (Brick Books, 2024) and MONUMENT (Brick ...