Occurrence
O Vastness, elder than enumerated breath,
receive this utterance unbound from perished ground.
We are the cogent dust of an unregarded star,
begotten where brief ardor learned a face,
and duration first instructed pulse to question.
We woke beneath an unexhausted vault
and named it sky; we trembled, cherished, sang.
Our hands, unfaithful, learned the custody of fire,
to yoke the seasons into measured light,
to utter tomorrow as an act of faith.
We have been cruel. We have been merciful. We err.
We fracture what sustains us, then devise repair.
We contend with ourselves, yet still we reach—
not to inherit darkness, but to speak.
Once, the Earth spoke
and discovered it possessed no name.
If you are manifold, know we are unfinished.
If you are singular, know we have never been.
We send no warning, benediction, or command—
only this record, loosed into duration:
that life persists not as intention wrought,
but as a fact the dark has not annulled.
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