I don’t want to be settled.
I don’t want roots growing
inside places or people.
I grow roots so thick and old
and seeded in my own chest,
that no matter where my
feet take me:
houses, cities, apartments,
castles, sidewalks, beaches —
I am planted in purpose.
Roots that can wrap around
all time and space.
Hold each person I love.
Protect my daughter.
Swing her from branches.
Grow her new leaves and blooms
when the wind comes through
with no mind to keep her intact.
My roots are my own
blood and guts.
Sinewy red and blue,
fed by my heart.
Purposed by poetry
and grounded enough
create cover for lovers
walking by. Children
climbing branches.
Save water for the thirsty.
In The Way 
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