Husk of possibility
Digging up arthritic roots
A buttress belldrop out for beauty.
We forgive ourselves for the folly
For which we are wholly to blame.
And instead take on fate like a
Lit flame left out in the rain.
Drop this stick, pointed green like a pen—
Watch it grow into a mangrove despite
Your best efforts to drown it.
Water and weed, we are in-between
We are shouting out through surface tension
We are sturdy like an island—
Current stripped of sand.
Sometimes all you need to root
Is another just like you.
—ECW
Poem 66 Edited – Poem 66 Original
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