your mind is a sanctuary of spun silver and wild lavender
where you sit patiently with the tangled thread of my breath
untangling the tight knots my fear has tied in the dark
you don’t turn your eyes from my shivering
or ask me to hide the sickness that rises in my throat
instead you slide your hands into the briars beside me
and teach me how to listen to the soft, wild weeping of my own blood
you tell me to look at the panic as if it were a child’s lost bird
to hold it close to the chest until the small heart stops hammering
to hear what the shivering is trying to say
and for the first time the dark doesn’t feel like a cage
but a place where we can sit together on the velvet floor
waiting for the morning to find us
there is a rare and holy grace in the way you move through the world
carrying the heavy cargo of another’s dreams in your hands
safekeeping the sacred things that others might have dropped
simply because your spirit is made of shelter and soft wool
you gather up the bruised and the forgotten
and you carry them back to the light
thank you for the gentle gold of your thoughts
for showing me how to heal without breaking
and for being the steady hearth where i can finally lay my head
— lyra moon (you are the softest light i have ever known)
july 14, 2026