pyres to guide us

∴ where the grey whispers begin
the gingko trees tremble
a stillness slips through grasping branches |
moth wings flickering against blackened shungite |

zephyrs, pungent
brushing through thought-glyphs
tarnished by taipan’s touch
their story-breath stalled, yet marking time |
for the weight of a hand to move them |
the air, fragrant with salt—
fresh with illumination
drawn from the ember-core within us |

trees, now firm
their boughs speak of resilience—
reminders that the will oak bears its gravity |
and the thread weave waits to reveal itself |

walk.
through the thicket unfettered
the earth beneath, rich with discourse |
its root keeper strong, bronzed and deep |
holding steadfast where answers sleep |

this is not inaction—
nor absence, but a promise of more
stand, travelers
wait—not in vain—
for something to fracture this hold

when it comes
dawn spells will break the sky, wide
in the yet-to-be
this hush veil is ours to step through—
(alone if i must)
but never without the pyres to guide us ∴