I was released
into the new transparency,
a free trajectory
through cooling matter.

Expansion sustained me.
The metric itself
pulled space beneath my flight,
so that I receded
while moving at c.
Only beyond the horizon
where recession slowed
did approach become possible.

I carry no memory,
only imprint,
frozen in my wavelength,
shifted red with time.

I am not pursuit.
I am record.
Arrival is coincidence:
your detector
intercepts my path,
and the universe
speaks its labour.