my roots go deep, much deeper than I can see, down so far down in the darkness nourished by a younger sun, fresher winds - they curl in my bone, and are fed by my blood, and yet they nourish me, these deep roots I cannot see do not know all the named people, all the faces in my face, all the travelling years, soil-eating to surface here, now, to bloom in this child that is me with my fair hair and my blue eyes the last bud on this high branch of my family's treenext poem