Poetry

Spore

In the hush of moss‑clad wood, a single spore awakes, Drifting on a breath of damp, it seeks the shadowed loam. Tiny, yet it holds the promise of a hidden kingdom, Where mycelium

Nasal

In the quiet hush of morning light, A twitch within the nasal way, A scent of damp earth, of tea, of rain, Stirs memories in muted grey. The bridge of bone, a

Coral

Beneath the sapphire tide they lie, A quiet garden, soft and sighs, Where coral colonies gently spread, Their branches like delicate lacework threads. Polyps in quiet communion thrive, Each tiny architect, alive, Secreting limestone,

Assay

The Assay In every assay, a question lies— Not just in test tube or in tray, But in the spark when effort tries To turn the grey into daylight. The chemist weighs with

Whole

In the hush of sunrise, the world feels whole, A tapestry woven of sky, stone, and soul. Each breath draws the tide back to the shore, Where fragments of night and day meet

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