Stacey DyeToo many steps wasted to stop.
Too much carnage on the road
to make my way back.
I think I’ll just sit awhile.
Rest my bones.
Gather my thoughts.
If you look, you will find me-
one foot inching toward the future,
one foot rooted in the past.
Green slender blades peek between my toes,
clouds morph into thunderheads aloft.
“Let it rain”, I say.
And the decision will be made.
The grass eventually yields to gnarly vines-
vines that slither around my ankles
then inch their way up my legs from there. . .
bound in time, to the earth.
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