Glimmers Against the Ending
I write because the light keeps calling.
Each workday I leave the house,
connect, perform modest miracles,
and daily haikus pin that to memory.
I write because the dark sits waiting,
madwomen in attics, old lace.
On the page I can gently question it,
let my inner sage speak.
I write because the world keeps ending;
some days I don’t want to fight that.
Still, I gather small glimmers
like, bread crumbs of hope.
I write because I refuse to vanish,
rewilding myself as much as a species,
sunlit, shadow-stitched, a glorious contradiction
moving toward whatever comes.
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