the roots reached up and caught my ankles
before i ever knew the word for what i was becoming
and i found my tongue in the rough skin of the oaks
where the sap moves like a slow and heavy secret through the dark
i was just a body in the hush
until the woods began to breathe back into me
and i saw that the earth is not a muffled thing
but a choir of ancient giants
speaking in a language made of shade and gravity
i stopped looking for gods in the clouds
when i found them standing tall and unbothered in the dirt
weaving a consciousness so vast
it makes our empires look like dust
it was the first time the world ever answered me back
and that vibration became the only law i cared to follow
a sudden crack in the concrete of my old life
where the magic finally pushed through to find the sun
and now i am just a part of the forest’s long and winding story
no longer a stranger
but a branch returning home
to the rhythm that has been waiting for me
since the very first seed split the world wide open
—lyra moon (learning the tongue of oak and gravity)
april 23, 2026