everything splits eventually

the tree opens like a mouth
& the mouth has teeth
& the teeth are roots
still choking the names out of soil.
(they scream in lowercase.)

i saw a deer unfold itself
in front of a truck —
slow as a hymn /
quiet as surrender.

& the body—
opens like
an apology:
too late. too soft. too much.

the sky
is blistered red
(again)
something holy spills
through the seams.
not light.
not yet.

skin splits easier when it’s warm.
i learned this when i tried to hold you.
(you leaked.)
(i didn’t stop you.)

my ribcage blooms backwards—
petals / bones /
empty rooms /
whatever god left in there
is feral now.

the trees are cracking.
(they said spring was coming
but they lied.)

i am not
grieving the earth
only the way it used to feel
before it started
screaming
under my feet.

somewhere
a boy opens his mouth
& only ash comes out.

somewhere
the ocean forgets
to hold its shape.

i bite down.
something iron leaks.
(this is how i pray now.)