Fern Spiral
Breath does not enter here by gate or chamber. It arrives everywhere at once, slipping through wet skin like moonlight through fern shade.
Breath does not enter here by gate or chamber. It arrives everywhere at once, slipping through wet skin like moonlight through fern shade.
A body made permeable is a body made river. Oxygen crosses the shining membrane and leaves no footprint but life.
To be lungless is not to lack breath. It is to refuse the single organ, to let the whole body become a quiet mouth.
The forest floor keeps its green secrets close. In every cushion of moss, dampness edits the border between inside and out.
Beneath the leaf litter, filaments speak in moisture. Diffusion is their grammar: slow, branching, luminous in the dark.
no lungs in the rain
skin drinks the hidden bright air
stone dreams underwater