like a palm
facing sky.
Each shadow
makes room
for your shape.
A tree leans
to hold the air
you stirred.
Its bark hums
with stories.
Time rests.
Its spine uncoils
across the earth.
Something—
call it grace,
call it animal—
meets your gaze
and stays.
You remain.
Rooted.
Whole.
Known
by everything
with eyes,
and everything
without.
Every sound,
every inward.
Every wingbeat
joins your breath.
Every grain
claims you.
And all of it
says yes.
