unfinished credo

We, built like river reeds

wrench the heart, holding on

who      root claws

upon rock & between crevices

like orchids hold the very air

they need/ here in the jungle’s lungs

and must pull       pull hard

as feels unnecessary

when everyone says it should be easy,

but the air is thin

broken air, the slaying/ Oh,

of man’s sadness for what?