New roots have sprouted from my feet,
They also have wings.
They tell me they do not want to live the old way
like their ancestors did
Stuck to a place,
stuck in form,
stuck in thought.
They don’t want to get entrenched in the earth.
They want to dig into the sky.
They want to look at the earth as it rolls by.
They pluck ideas from the wind and lend them to me,
bounce them and then laugh at their superfluity
when then crash with their insides out.
Sometimes these roots of mine
snigger with me at the idols and the isms.
Mostly these new roots of mine make me unrooted.
And that’s a joy.