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.
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