Earthcreeper

Everything arises
Everything falls away.
In the hush between wingbeats,
the world inhales—exhales—
a quiet turning of seasons.

Without rhyme or reasons.

The way it’s always been.

From dust, a beak carves shelter,
from morning, a song threads dusk.
Time flows like soft wind
over feather, stone, and hollow earth.
Birth stitching itself to death,
death giving way for birth.

And always, beneath it all,
a steady pulse of living:
the rhythm the Earthcreeper hears,
and briefly becomes.