Liminal

 

Imagine

an ancient seafloor 

rumpled, like a rug,

rising from rifts 

of broken plates. 

This is our story, our orogeny

of mountains — 

formed by folding and

faulting, 

fractured layers forced up

and out

as once soft skin, 

exposed, eroded,

eclipsed 

by wind

and ice.

 

Our bones,

weathered,

crush underfoot

but hold on, 

wait —

turning toward them

is not about loss.

They are a threshold 

to your 

own

range.

 

In this space 

between

is the crack you seek —

the widening, 

wilding

belief 

in your own rugged forming.

From the sedimental gathering

you will create your own 

weather,

gleam mystic in 

moonlight,

and breathe

along 

with the tides. 

You will see your own dust 

and know it as stars.

You will paint this world 

with each sunrise.