Root-ins, branch-outs

In the garden is my parent’s apple tree.

I pause and look at it

As I’m hanging up the washing.

My life feels both

behind and in front of me.

We have no defence

against nature’s change -

So I am open to the air

and stripe down into the cold teeth of the soil

through my feet:

These routines

Where my roots grow in.

Beware

the vortex of the washing machine

as the old screen cracks,

fantasies flap away like birds,

sheets on the washing line: taken to freedom.

Untied shoelaces where I stand:

(Strings meeting the mycelium)

step out of those containers,

pressing down my soles, bare.

I was hit by the moment,

I was broken in my centre where it entered.

I became a star, a seed splintered open: pangea

cracks like branches,

beams of lightning rippling outwards so far

mind and body taken to dust.

I became a tree built on self trust

Jittering of the lost city back home as it fades away,

twinkling raindrops on the tips of the twigs,

as I go forwards into the day.

The whole world is cracking shell of a seed it as it grows

Cracked like a snowflake, like ice in spring

thawed out, I spoke back to my infinity ring,

true loyalty in this life: priceless thing

I walk around in the trunk as if drinking from a spring

peace within the din

I move forwards Upon my soul’s deep wings

in the ground, my veins count their pounds

with every drop down of my feet, I sync

My future mind as I surf the brink

Stretching out like the apple tree

fingers reach the ending,

the cusp of the curtains: they are opening

outstretched to a new scene like leaves unfurling

the creeper vines, and the devils snare tried to drag me down to my past,

But I was aware

Of my routines.