Grounding

spring torrent, whips,
thrashing against pane,
wooden rocker, ghostly
old soul moving about,
screaming wind, trapped,
unsure they way to go,
swirling above, playing in
the trees across the street;
oh, how connected we are,
you and me, our existence
similar this night, spinning
about, destination unknown,
we sigh with heaviness and rage,
deep resonating melodies,
high pitches and low,
wailing aloud, lost, voicing
deep moans of frustration,
yet we pause, enough to tease
branches, waving as we pass,
at life, wishing to move, to 
uproot, though we, slapping
wind and I, yearn not to
remain uprooted, but to plant,
quieted and still, embracing
grounded possibilities.

                                        Jaymes Ian Woode

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