We keep lighting small fires
against the long indifference,
each flame a verb we mouth into
the unanswering dark,
and the dark, of course,
withholds its yes, its no,
yet the hands still cup,
the breath still insists,
still we kneel at the threshold
of what was never promised,
fashioning from the trembling
fact of being-here a meaning
the wind will scatter,
a meaning we begin,
again, to gather.

 

16/5/2026