I stepped into dust. It opened. It took me. I gave bone. I gave salt. It asked for more. I do not ask. I don’t uncoil. I press. I press. I press. The earth does not beg. It bends. Then breaks. You cracked the rhythm. Now your lungs drum stone. I circle. My ribs open. My knee marks you. Spine bends. Nails dig. The breath splits. Smoke curls. Soil grips. Your name drips. I do not curse. I correct. I do not curse. I collect. I eat the fire. I spit the root. I bleed from heel so you remember truth. I was healer. I am still. But you are no longer worth the leaf. They carved me open. But the seed stayed. They drank the river. But I became rain. I do not rise. I sink. I grow below. And I wait for bone. Spine bends. Nails dig. The breath splits. Smoke curls. Soil grips. Your name drips. I do not curse. I correct. I do not curse. I collect. I don’t curse. I recite. I don’t break. I align.
