The body shook still, then crumbled into motes,
its boundary undone by time’s unyielding siege.
The air waited sedated, maligned with grief and dust,
a quiet ruin where form had lost its hold.
Stars impassive, silence wide and deep,
their light a watchful decay.
Within the wreck, the worm-world stirred,
a root uncoiled beneath the broken psyche.
From the stump, a green fuse pushed its shoot.
its leaves unpaused in the unfurling dark.
Through ruin, something new began to grow,
the wet root rhythm steady, sure, alive.
The body was gone, but the world transformed.