I once prided myself on my attachment–
it was the only thing I could afford at the time–
and even though I thought it elevated my mind,
the only thing it raised 
was my unstoppered arrogance.
At least I was held in my place
by a purpose I did not yet understand,
too young to thank the one who gave it to me,
too curious to question the foundations,
too satisfied to know true hunger.
I traded this destiny 
for stability,
but only trees seek stability
as they remember the storms of their ancestors 
that swept away anything
untethered and unbothered.
So I must relearn to mutate roots
to attach myself to the causes of my youth
that have changed so little since the storms of the past
first exposed them to a budding mind.
Those movements have moved so very little
in a world that has shifted so much,
that I cannot help but wonder
if I have moved so little, too,
or if I have just blown back to my roots.