Nails

grow. We cut them off, for the aesthetics of the shoe. Because
grandma says so, for the job interview,
because we are civilized.

But there is a secondary reason: we deny
without knowing it
our tree part. The nails of our hands,
transparent tops, reach for the sky.
The nails of our feet, the intimate humus of the
soil: we fear the depths
of the ether and the earth.

How far would our branches reach?
To what burning center do our bones reach?
Haven't you noticed that our feet have
the shape of roots?

That's why the birds follow us,
that's why we tremble in winter.

We don't put down roots.
That's why the wind carries us away.