Root and Road

Roots shaped like wheels

bound in some kind of

solid ground and a vague direction.

Creeping north.

North

where rain

and snow and river and sea

quench me and

Winter wrings me dry,

surrenders me into a slumber.

Where I dream

of holes in the ground shaped like

dirt roads and tadpoles

broken bones and sandy feet

first love and lucid dreams

Holes shaped like

desolate roads

where throwing up thumbs cast

spells on strangers,

like once lived lives.

Where I might have danced and swayed and shaken loose

from leaves

Where I might have drank in the sun while some

unorchestrated bird song trickled

through the air

and the creek rambles,

fervently

towards the sea

I dream

deeply,

that I might be that much more alive in Spring,

that I might I rest before bearing down into some new life.

My branches blossom

and reach

for all the places my roots

have been.