Cradle something worthless
a shard of starlight that forgot its sky
a feather shed by no known wing
a silence folded into the shape of an object
do not question it
the constellations themselves are mistakes
that learned how to glow
so take the broken thing
the almost-thing
the thing that failed at being held correctly
put it in your pocket
next to the echo of a name
you no longer answer to
there will come a night
when the heavens loosen their geometry
and the moon dissolves into a listening eye
on that night
keys will no longer be forged
they will be remembered
and memory will refuse metal
so keep the useless thing close
let it gather the dust of passing comets
let it drink the pale breath of eclipses
it is not waiting
it is becoming
between one heartbeat and the next
you will find yourself
before a gate made of distances
hinged on the absence of time
locked by the question no language survived
and something vast
will lean toward you
as a recognition
it will not ask who you are
it will not ask why you came
it will ask
what did you carry
when nothing needed carrying
and you
with trembling hands
will offer the useless thing
now faintly burning
with a light that does not belong to light
then the gate
which was never closed
will remember how to open
and the stars
all of them
will rearrange themselves
around the small impossible gravity
of what you chose not to discard
°Woodlights Woudlicht
