The Earth Is Breathless

The Earth Is Breathless

The earth is breathless in the early hours,

Before the birds remember how to sing.

The air feels held, like something paused too long,

As if the ground is waiting for a word.

Trees stand still with stories in their bark,

Roots tasting what the surface chose to spill.

They hold the weight of centuries of trust,

And learn too late what carelessness can do.

Rivers move as though they are unsure,

Carrying reflections they did not make.

They pass by towns, then fields, in quiet blame,

And keep no record of who taught them this.

The soil remembers every careless touch,

Each promise made and broken in the same breath.

Seeds still try, because that is their work,

Even when the ground no longer helps them rise.

Insects hum like prayers no one repeats,

Small lives adjusting to a thinner world.

They do not ask for meaning or excuse,

They live inside whatever we have left.

The earth is breathless, not yet gone,

Still turning, still enduring what it can.

It waits for us to notice what we’ve done,

Or learn to live without our noise at all.