She pulls herself up by the roots

enfolds her radicle in moist compost,
cocoons tendrils in cotton for the journey.

In a could-be-place, she halts
by a patch of bare ground, unwraps

a couple of rootlets, one or two sprigs.
New air passes over, under, through.

She may try her taproot in a patch
of loose soil, hover her shoot system

for as long as it takes. This may be all
she does here, quietly re-lifting, covering

and closing the gap. If the soil happens
to be quenched by just the right amount,

the loam just so, she will plant herself.
Wait it out in hope.