How do you both lay down roots and grow?

It seems like a pulsing, pounding contradiction

To dig in your heels and aspire to brush the clouds

Yet if the soil is right

It allows you to grow

Leaves so you don’t leave

Pedals… for tricycles

Thorns so the band-aids have something to do

The first blooms of firsts

Scrapes, unwrappings, unfoldings, cold calls

Chaotic, static growth in a house of earth

Smells of sour and periwinkle

Whatwillbes and whatwouldabeens

Found only in the quiet solitudes you don’t want anymore

It is all TOO

Much

and little