Some travel in the beaks of sparrows
or dropped from flight, grow
quiet in moist fertile pockets.

Some send out tapered roots through the night
and stems migrate across the soil.
At the surface, shoots and runners
cross over to the root at intervals, and
some seeds sprout---blown ripe to the ground.

When I am here, my seed, root, and stem
position me to stay. But what keeps me
is the breath of the indolent wind,
the saturation of light erasing shadows,
and the filigree of mist collecting on your hair.

- Carla Shafer