I wonder where it is you’re going now?
Do you fly to the sun, or seek the cold?
You’ve learned to carry your own roots around
in your backpack, that one with the rainbow –
it’s fading now. That pack is growing old.
I’ve watched you fill it up, packing it tight
with clothes and books and boots and things you might
need one day. Empty, then fill it again,
because you want to, but can’t travel light.
Those heavy roots will not be cut. Your pain.