My toes sink into the soil around me.
It is not clay, it is not sturdy,
but it is ground,
and it feels good.
And maybe it’s temporary,
placed there by our own hands,
by our own demands,
the sands of our own experiences;
but maybe it’s malleable,
and maybe I’ll stay.
My feet sure feel that way.
But even as my toes sink,
that for my eyes to match my feet
would be a shame.
I want my eyes to be traveling eyes,
free roaming and not stuck in the mud.
When the sun shifts in the sky,
our faces shift to welcome its rays.
It is only then that we see our neighbors.
You there, next to me:
For what it’s worth, I see you.
Our feet reside in separate soil,
your feet there, my feet here,
but let me learn about your sand.
Let me learn what’s got you grounded.
Though it differs from me,
our leaves, they reach.
We touch lives
as we photosynthesize.
I don’t require your uprooting,
and I ask you not to require that of me–
no need to plant yourself in my vicinity–
but the sun feels better on our faces
when we feel it together.