you built a life. under ten moons, you were a house of water. you held a second heart in the arms of your rib cage, dreamed two sets of dreams. merged the rivers of your bloodlines under your skin. and then, in the early hours of a spring morning, i watched a piece of you leave, swallowed in the pain of your shattering. you broke, and the rains of new life poured out of you.

you are now the mother of that dawning ground. the guardian of its soil. the mender of its aching. the gardener of its joy. this is your work now.

you were born in your dying. you were delivered to a new life as you birthed one into existence.

you are utter magic.

building that mountain.

// birth