Everything out here leans north from the constant south wind.

Everything has a certain bent and a certain beauty in its situation.

It looks one way but seems another,

And yet is neither of the two.

The grasses and the thistles seem to grow with a heart for one direction,

But the winds that blow without cessation

Are their true loves.

And nothing really ever quits,

Just changes,

Except our roots, which grow straight down 

Toward the exact, due center

Of the earth.

-jenn