The Tango

Anemic for years,
an eyesore for the last few,
barely taller
and easily cradled in my arms,
there it stood,
stunted and seemingly fragile.
Naively, I thought
that tools were all I needed,
never expecting it
would require bravado and
intimacy, too.
After leaning into rocky soil
to uncover
sinuous roots branched in
every direction,
an axe produced sap rather
than cut tendons.
It took an abrazo to complete
the uprooting:
As shoulder leaned against
the knit of gravity,
bound root and brut force
met in a tango.

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