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© Copyright 2025 - Avshalom agmon

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I was your first horizon.

I am still your only home.

I steadied you when you first learned to stand,

Fed you with rivers, warmed your open hands.

Now summers smoke, and ash threads through my rain,

You cut my bones and call it growth again.

Where fireflies once lettered dusk with light,

A parking lot reflects a tireless night.

I’m not your quarry, switch, or faceless seam

I’m every root beneath the things you dream.

I don’t keep score. I only keep your time.

But time runs thin along this warning line.

I am the skin beneath your street,

The water moving in your veins.

You call me yours, but we’re the same

When I am hurt, you wear the pain.

I am the sky that holds your breath,

The only harbor you will know.

Hold me like you hold a child

Live like there’s nowhere else to go.

I watch the forests measured into roads,

A wolf trail ends against a fence of light.

Reefs go bone white, kelp beds come undone,

Orchards bloom wide without a single hum.

You trawl the sea and cast its heart aside,

Lean on the tide to cover what you hide.

You draw me thin and ask me to endure

I’m ample, not endless; I’m not your cure.

I heal by seasons, not by wanting more.

Listen your children hear me in their sleep.

Give them a future you can bear to keep.

I am the skin beneath your street,

The water turning in your veins.

Call me your home and live like it,

Begin to mend what bears your name.

I am the sky that holds your breath,

The only harbor you will know.

Bank smaller fires, leave open doors,

Watch me go green again,and grow.

I’m patient, not endless.

Choose me, and I choose you.