The Basin of the Hollow

The Appalachians are the only foundations
that refuse to shatter when I lean.

I pressed back into the hills
and they held—
not with gentleness,
but with stone’s slow,
unyielding patience.

When every room feels too small
for what I carry,
the mountains widen around me
and “too much” shrinks to scale—
a hollow the hills know how to cradle.

The basin never spilled me out.

These are the only monoliths
large enough
to meet me eye to eye.