The Craft of Roots

Every poem

begins in its roots.

Roots

that remain unseen in the soil,

yet gather all their strength

in silence.

The deeper the roots,

the quieter the labor,

the greater the patience,

the deeper the endurance.

From there,

branches of lines begin to rise—

some reaching toward light,

some turning toward wounds,

yet every branch

stays green in its truth.

When the roots are strong,

verses do not break in gentle winds;

they endure seasons,

without surrendering their color.

Thus,

the trunk of craft is formed—

solid, grounded,

shaped by the hands of time.

And then,

from that trunk,

tender buds emerge—

soft, restrained,

felt more than spoken.

This is the moment

when a poem

is no longer merely read,

but begins

to breathe inside the heart.