I break dry beds

with the tip of my niwashi.

A pecking chicken,

intent on leaving no weed unscathed.

I haul duck-taped watering cans

from the bellies of blue bins

barely containing

the ocean

where sun splits skin

I will let roots crawl through my dirty body

if only

to weather bony bedrock

to hasten gone-gone lifetimes

until we bump and wrap the earth

in all we understand again.

Sarah Martin (she/her) likes to find people and green spaces and sit with people and green spaces.