we argued the lean of the branch while the sky went dark
the difference between a shadow and the rot itself
measuring the width of a sudden frost
that fell where the soil should have been deep and warm
it was loud for a season
the canopy shaking, the old habit of bark
hardening against the sudden wind
the roots shocked by how quickly the cold came in
yet look at the rings inside the wood
underneath the split where the lightning struck
the sap still moves, patient and unhurried
the center of the tree stays dense and unbroken
we did not let the ground give way
we called to each other through the falling leaves
and stayed tethered to the same hillside
the ridge is wet and still now
the storm has moved off toward the high peaks
but the wood is still whole
holding the exact form of the mountain that made it
—lyra moon (“let it split,” said the heartwood, “we needed the air”)
june 18, 2026