Ashes That Refuse to Scatter

The wind keeps trying to erase us,

scrubbing footprints from the shore

like a mother wiping tears from a child’s cheek

before they’ve had time to fall.

But we are stubborn as rust,

etching ourselves into the bones of the earth

with every breath that dares to remember.

We are the shadows cast by burning bridges,

the scent of rain on scorched pavement,

a whisper stitched into the hem of time.

Even silence wears our fingerprints,  

pressed into the pause between heartbeats,

where grief and grace hold hands and refuse to let go.

I saw your echo in a Starling flight,

vibrating wings slicing the sky like a vow never spoken aloud.

You were the tremble in the candle’s flame,

the part of light that aches to become smoke, but stays.

And when the stars forget our names,

we’ll be the dust that glows in their forgetting,

not vanished,

but transformed into a journey

of one’s ethereal aura

into the possibility of the impossible,

like ink bled into water,

blurring beautifully…

 into everything.