Breathwood

step

s o f t

it listens,

even when

your mouth is

a locked garden

of silence.

b r e a t h e

not like

cities teach you

shallow, hurried, forgetting,

but

like moss remembers

slow, verdant,

steeped in

ancient hush.

l o o k

not at your feet,

but

skyward,

where branches

braid the heavens

into

quietude.

h e a r

the hush

between leaf murmurs,

the echo

of your soul

finally

learning its shape.

s t a y

long enough

to be

mistaken

for a shadow

or a prayer

caught mid-breath.

b e c a u s e

the trees

never asks

you to become

more

than

presence—

and that

is holiness enough.