Mother Plays Games

Where am I, son? Can you find me counting in the tree trunk Where am I, son? Can you feel me branching in your branching arm Where am I, son? Hidden in the wood that you were cut from and supped from Shaped by the shaper The grain of the paper Where am I, son? Don't you be foiled by the soil Under there the body loyal Read your poem to my bones But see me somewhere else Mother that plays game