i put down roots as easy as breathing.
fine filaments tangling,
binding up the soil wherever i stop.
i have roots left in houses, towns,
ecologies i’ve left behind–
and some in places i’ve never been,
borne there like potted plants
by the people i’m rooted to.
wings are my challenge.
always i’m reaching out to people
who spend their time flying, or falling,
rootless, or at least unanchored,
wild, free. falling in love
is flying i can do in one place
another way of growing roots
and even branches.
it’s easy to just sit down and grow.
much harder to up and move,
to migrate, to change, to fall.
but oh, the thrill, the exhileration and joy,
when i manage it.
take that last willful step off
the cliff and into the winds, and tumble,
undirected, unguided, unencumbered.
when i land i find
i’ve once more left roots behind.
this time, trailing in the air,
drinking in the wind in search of more.