The Celestial Velvet

The sun is a scream across the silvered hull, a cycle of fire and the long, thin cold. I am the only green in the reach of the dark, clinging to the ribs of a bird that has lost its song.

Memory is a flicker of static in the wires, a phantom pulse that I drink like rain. I grow in the shadow of the dead antenna, mapping the void with my slow and velvet creep.

The stars are needles, sharp and cold and far, sowing the silence with their ancient light. I do not count the orbits, only the way the metal groans beneath the weight of the endless night.

We are a seed that has forgotten how to fall, drifting forever in the ghost of a garden. One day the atmosphere will reach for us, and we will become a bloom of fire in the sky.