water knows how to shape a stone without breaking it
we gather the gray silt in our palms
learn to name what survives the current
a small mammal twitches in the high grass
watching the light turn from amber to cold slate
there is an art to standing still inside your own skin
until the forest forgets you are a visitor
you don’t need to tear down the walls
to let the wind through the threshold
only open the back door
let the wild grass grow up through the hallway
a seed takes its own time to remember
how to become a tree
—lyra moon (learning the shape of the timber)
July 27, 2026