the forest keeps its secrets a soft crush of moss between roots my boots press into earth still damp from last nights storm the air raw with pine and something ancient the scent of memory...abdicating i pause at a fallen tree split clean through light spears the wound and i think how even the broken can guide the sun
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beneath canopies the world forgets its own noise remembers its pulse
dew slides from pine needles onto my opening hand fleeting cathedral

















