Propel me.

I am stopped

and stagnant,

dying like a tree

in the desert.

Move me.

Give me a  reason

to uproot myself.


I have had

the strange dreams

of a lone transient.

I have heard the wind

and it still whispers stories

of Gypsy caravans,

and the Oregon Trail.


I have been told

of rolling, painted lands,

populated by tribes

of nomadic warriors

and roaming horsemen

that conquered the frozen steppe.


A warm Spring breeze

comes in,

melting the snow

and nurturing my roots.

Were that they were wings,

then I could go

to the places that I have seen,

and touched,

 and smelled

in my mind’s eye.


The wind laughs,

and the Sun smiles,

and off they go

along on their adventures.

Even the stars,

pinned in the night sky

have more freedom

and mobility.


How do I uproot myself?

Dig deep,

and pull miles upon miles

of my past

up from the earth

and drag it along with me,

like some royal robes?

Or do I just break

at the trunk

and grow legs,

walking away

from who I am

and what I’ve known?


All I know

is that this desert is killing me.

A strong wind kicks up

and a wall of dust,

half a mile high

gathers on the horizon.

I think I can hear music,

and smell the ocean.


A giant gust buffets me

and threatens to take

my few leaves,

but they hang on.

I am not yet lost,

but as the wind grows

to a sustained gale,

I know the time has come,

and my decision made,

as I hear my trunk crack.



HG – 2022

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