In Sandy Shores

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.