Tumbleweed — open ground

they said it wandered
a restless thing without root
seeking its anchor

hysteria, wind
a body blamed for its storms —
sky mistaken for fault

open land, they said
nothing grows here without seed
they did not look long

root is not a chain
some bodies answer to light
not to expectation

under quiet ribs
seasons gather without map
rain without witness

nothing here is lost
only space held differently
wind moves through the form

what drifts is not void
it carries its gathered seeds
in a woven hush

even tumbleweed
knows the art of being still
horizon within

call it wandering
or something without a name —
open sky, carried