• Vol. 07
  • Chapter 10

Leap and Grow

Freedom is to twist myself
Make like the trees,
Holding, swaying, growing old.
I put my head where my stomach should be
And smile from the trunk,
Crack my foot through the back of my skull,
New shoot.
Here I am a totem, a petrified sapling
Roots through dead concrete,
Waiting for grass to curl from soil,
For clouds to roll blue,
And a leaping future,
(That watches where it came from),
To land on my branches.