thirty poems number twelve


roots going
 
 
where do roots go when you move the tree

maybe stay where they are.   old folk don’t like change

maybe they dissolve into birds.   fly higher

maybe sprout fingers, playing in the dirt

counting is like memory, going the other way

but then I’m no tree.   maybe a shrub
 
 
 
 
 

4 thoughts on “thirty poems number twelve

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