Through Cracks, We Grow
A fault ran deep beneath our feet,
We felt it shift but stayed discreet.
No one dug down to see it through—
We turned away, as people do.

And so began the quiet slide,
As roots forgot how once they tied.

But storms don’t ask if we’re prepared—
They shake the truths we thought we shared.

One small hand reached, then two, then more,
New shoots broke through the cracked old floor.
And in that mess, still raw, still spun,
We saw a hint we’re not yet done.