on the days i scatter seeds in cracked pots, return fledglings to their nests, and build bug hotels from pinecones, i learn that reciprocity is not a word but a season that arrives in the shape of blossoms, clear water, and the hum of life unseen
November 16, 2025
the cycle starts & so the rain seeps into the cracked earth, our hands scatter seeds in cracked pots, the...
ODE TO THE CONCRETE JUNGLE WHICH DREAMS IN CHLOROPHYLL
November 16, 2025
I. The pavement splits and whispers lullabies— dandelion tongues lick asphalt spelling perhaps in Braille My grandmother's ghost kneels here....
