Last night I dreamed I was the oak I lost

I'm standing in the old yard with my boots on, but my arms are branches. The sap moves up my shins slow and patient, and the whole tree I lost to oak wilt is just... me. A squirrel runs up my arm and I can feel every claw, every step, like it's walking on my ribs. I wake up and my hands are still tingling, still reaching for light.