to my step, in my soul
a grounding; my ankles to the soil.
It's gone now,
as I float.
Like a puppet, swimming.
Wondering where,
to whom, I'll hold onto
next.
The way the wind
catches the trees, the way it
lingers over a sturdy branch
too long,
uprooting its tendons
from the earth.
And for what?
Alas, another fleeting
moment of warmth.
Watch it,
slowly chilling,
like my breath in the winter
air.
E.