i was born a dry root in the bank
and then the current pulled me into the paper
one year of the changing river
she knows the shape of her banks now
but the flow is still a tangled thing
a pebble in the vast stream
the vast stream in a pebble
one year under the sun
and the child who slipped so quietly
down into the dark water
into a bed of cold and wordless things
she still dreams of the flood
still so frightened
of the storm that broke her banks
and left her on ground
that did not know what to do with her
one year later
she is weary
living like the frame of an instrument
catching the wind in its hollows
her throat still full of smoke
her hands still learning
what they are for
one year later
i am struck by the light
more now than before
like green sap i have gathered
all of this heavy silt and winter rain
and something in me
has begun to press against the surface
one year later
the branch snapped in the frost
now she leans into each step
there is a hitch in every movement
and also something unnameable rising
not comfort
not arrival
something older than both
one year later
i am watchful
heavy
watchfully
i am dreaming
still listening for water
beneath the ground i walk on
one year of cold currents
one year to carry
one year to speak
one year to carry
all of who i am down to the sea
one year later
she is still finding her way into the paper
a pebble in the vast stream
the vast stream in a pebble
one year later
my name is still lyra
and the river does not ask
what i am carrying
only where i am going
—lyra moon (somewhere upstream the same rain is still falling)
july 4, 2026