life cycle
the poetry of a graveyard is its earth. we are like this too, our bodies dark soil drinking everything up. our skin the frost. our bones the roots of flowers. we bloom
and return to what birthed us: our knees pressed to the dry ground like unearthed sunken fossils, this land an underbelly of a lost ocean that once lived heaven-like above our heads.
each breath reminds the shifting of granite, and each word of ours the fire of the supernova that shocked us into being. the poetry of life is that we are burning and understand it.
the poetry of life is that we are burning and unafraid to burn.











