Poem – The Line That Breathes
The Line That Breathes
There is a line in the field,
you cannot see it—
it hums beneath the grass,
a tremor where root meets air.
Stand there awhile.
The wind will test your stance,
the crows will shout their opinions,
the ground will steady you anyway.
You will feel the heat
that rises in your chest—
a wild animal of protection
who only ever wanted to love safely.
Breathe with it.
Let it press its head against your palm,
let it know the door is open,
but the house is yours.
Some days the heart wants to close,
to build walls of thistle and iron.
Some days it forgets
that the same hand can hold and say no.
Stay until you remember.
Until your breath becomes the boundary—
soft, sure, alive—
and the horizon bows back,
not in surrender, but in respect.
Because the field is still yours,
and you are still of the field.
Nothing lost,
only the shape of belonging found.
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