you shifted
with the axis of the night
giving up flesh
for the heartbeat
of a much bigger sky
Tag: short poem
The Bird Cemetery
Once, I gave a friend a painting, and she cried.
That was the whole story.
Behind my house, a bird cemetery is slowly growing.
It feels prophetic somehow, as if forgiveness could come easily,
light as a wing.
Energy does not lie.
The work changes when I show up fully.
It stops needing my explanation—
but I still need the moment it meets someone.
Force without depth is only noise.
Anyone can scream.
The real question is what you’re saying.
The Water Test
Which of them is stronger
The one who watches
or
the one who lives?
The truth:
The part that watches is loud.
The part that lives is quiet
but it is still there.
And it only gains strength from small experiments in movement.
Not from forcing yourself.
Not from rushing.
Not from trying to “fix anxiety.”
It grows from proving to yourself — in small, humane steps —
that you can go into the water and come back out.
We return to the same place
not to begin again
but to understand what never ended.
Nothing Remembers
For a moment, the world felt
rehearsed
and I forgave it
for needing practice.
Nothing remembers,
yet everything knows
Everything is shaky except for the minerals.