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.