After the night,
and after the sight,
there comes a stillness,
a hush between two breaths;
two reaching fingers,
one of longing,
one of restraint,
bridging the bars
that divide the cage from the sky
into a trembling entanglement.
Light, stripped of its certainty,
wanders through the veins of dawn
to find itself again,
lingering
on the cusp of becoming,
like faith
before its first believer.
The blossom trembles,
not from fear,
but from remembering
the cost of birth,
the thorned inheritance of beauty.
And I
who have crossed the cavern of night,
who have seen, and been seen
by the faceless truth
stand where the wind folds silence
into a promise not yet made,
listening
for the unspoken syllable of tomorrow,
the word
that has not yet dared
to name itself.
