Blown by every wind that flows
Hither-thither, I am a reed
In sandy shores.
where does the wind
Come from, where does it go?
Toppling ,uprooting me
Winding its way into large pores
Of the sandy soil in which I grow
At the water’s edge.
I must recede within the interior
I must find the clay of the mainland
I must abandon this life of rootless edges
And growing on risky precipices.
They told me clayey soil has smaller pores
Where windy-watery intruders may not nose
Where warm and secure rootholds oppose
Every windy-watery stream that blows
And every firmly rooted reed thrives and grows.