In this vast world we call our own,
Where roots run deep through fossil-bone,
One breath binds us—the same sweet air,
A debt we owe to every layer.
From jellyfish that write in light
To bison shaking stars from night,
Each thread undone unwrites the loom—
Time pools where orchids bloom.
We seek the moon’s long pull on tides,
The wolf who mourns, the worm who guides.
No life is ledgered, lost, or lone—
The soil hums with seeds unsown.
Witness the lion, king of rust,
Whose yawn exhales continents to dust.
Yet smaller thrones eclipse his reign:
The beetle’s clock, the ant’s domain.
The hummingbird, a sapphire hinge,
Unlocks the bloom with one faint twinge.
While moss, in cursive, slowly scrawls
Green psalms beneath the bracken’s sprawl.
So count not fang nor gold nor shrine,
But how each breath braids the vine.
The plankton’s bloom, the comet’s arc—
All tremble in the spider’s dark.
Let us attend what we behold:
Both flood and famine, flame and fold.
For every end is a begun—
We’re stardust cupping the sun’s flame.