When the World Tilts Forward

It begins like a breath held too long,

the horizon loosening its belt,

and suddenly the ground leans

like a tired shoulder.

Trees bow, not from wind,

but from some secret gravity

that decides this is the moment

to spill the cup of the sky.

Birds falter mid-flight,

their wings scribbling new maps

to keep balance with a future

already leaning toward us.

You feel it—

the hush before language,

the pulse that says

everything familiar just slipped

half a step out of frame.

And yet, in that forward tilt,

the heart learns its own acrobatics:

catching, adjusting, daring,

as if it knew all along

that balance was never the point,

only motion.