Coincidence are roots conditionally planted
And shaken free from my own release,
These are the fruits of you waiting for me.
I only break the bitter skin,
But with the hint of something sweet
That sits on the tips of my teeth.
May you be swayed in the wind of my words
May the old oak creak with the songs of young birds.
But may I be weary of my courageous assertions
Though they have granted myself this conscious dreaming.
There was never a line to sign for assurance,
But I'm drafting my sleep for this hopeful endurance.