the pines are gone from the back lot
someone brought a blade and took them down to the stumps
leaving only the wide open sky and a kitchen where i sit
tracing the word wood onto a scrap of paper
as if the name could bring back the shade
now a small hum vibrates beneath the boards under my feet
and the yard waits like a breath held too long
i have become the dark cloud anchored over the tool shed
fading slowly into the same cold anger that built the fence
trying to tell you all of this without blinking
but the light has already shifted
and the truth has drifted out into the tall grass where nobody walks
everyone passes by with their hands buried deep in their pockets
and no one stops to look into the gray space between the trees
if you want to know what remains, go stand where the fence lines disappear
where the ground forgets its edges
and everything loses its outline
that's where the mind has to build something
out of nothing but an empty lot and the memory of shade
—lyra moon (clearing the lot and fencing the edges won't build a roof over the void)
june 19, 2026