(in the Lakota way of stillness)
We are what remains
when silence remembers itself.
A spark.
A breath.
A heartbeat between going and returning.
The wind carries us
not away,
but home,
to where light bows
and becomes prayer.
The elders said:
Nothing is lost.
It only changes form
fire into smoke,
voice into sky,
heart into rhythm
the world still listens to.
And if you are still enough,
you will feel it
the earth breathing through you,
softly,
like a promise
kept.
