once,
you thought god was something
that lived above you

in glass cathedrals
in hands that folded like broken wings
in words you never believed
but whispered anyway

but god was never up there
god was the root
that split the concrete
to find you
the worm writing
through the dirt
the river undoing itself
over and over again

you prayed for a sign
And the sky answered
with thunder in its teeth
you asked for mercy
And the wolves began to sing
it wasn't punishment
it was recognition
it was god
breathing through the rot
And saying:
i never left you.

the petals rot as tenderly as they bloom
every death here
is an offering
every crow knows
the melody's you forgot
every storm
remembers your heartbeat

you were made of the same ruin
the same holy decay
you are bark and blood and
everything that bleeds quietly

kneel in mud.
let the rain baptize
the part of you
that still calls this
home.
let the moss write scripture
along your wrists

let the silence answer
what your prayers could not

for the truth is this
god is not watching
god is in the pulse
beneath your feet
in the shadow of the mountain
in the soft violence of growing things

and when the forest
finally remembers your name
it will not speak it
it will swallow it
gently
beautifully
as if it were
a prayer returning home