While we sit on a still deck,
tethered to the house,
tree fronds around us rustle
at the slightest breeze.
We trust in joists, planking, paneling,
cut years ago from rooted, swaying, living trees.
We keep pulling up stakes
to seek food and companions, shelter and home.
Yet our roofs, fields, and shops
turn into hard-edged shells, till the next big storm
draws soft skins from below the nacre.
We sing, teach, paint, cook, knit, write, and dance,
at the most imperceptible move of the spirit.