Sometimes I feel displaced.
Like a flower in the sand,
the ground moves and shifts beneath me.
My roots cling, reach, grasp, but nothing…
I’m too weak to stand.
The sand can be quite gritty,
agony, as I begin to wilt.
Starved for what matters…
Longing to be seen…
Oh, but I am seen.
The beauty that I have retained,
magnified by a grace that’s ineradicable,
is plucked from its sandy abandon…
Now a gift,
a new life,