This cortisol currency you pillage out of me from depths unseen
Cannot mean as much to you as it means to me
Your hands remain empty as I am depleted
You are the storm-maker but I will not be defeated
I’m recycling my resources
Your hot air will run its course
I will hold steady
So go ahead, shake my tree
I have plenty of cortisol, from depths unseen
Enough for you and for me
Sage Burner Poetry 