I rose from dust and flame.
The cloud collapsed beneath its secret will.
The dark bent close, and spoke my name
and silence shattered into stars.

The spiral of my arms uncoiled,
each orbit bound in luminous vow.
Billions burned, yet the form endured:
a thought made visible,
a wound made whole.

I recall the shudder of first birth
cores breaking open, gases fled,
the molten prayer of forming worlds,
the rain of iron, carbon, breath.

My memory is matter.
It drifts in veils of dust and stone.
No instant lost.
No stillness mute.
All endings echo through my bone.

I brushed against my kin
their halos braided into mine.
Our collisions were our covenant,
our ruin, and our song.

Through breaking, I became immense,
and every scar rekindled flame.

I cradle void between my stars,
yet every absence hums of fire.
The wells within my scars still ring
with the choir of what has been.

They drink the light,
but not the trace.
The hidden weight still turns in me
unseen, unspent.

Now stars grow old.
Their fuel dissolves.
Their embers fall to silence.
My arms grow faint within their dark.

Still I remember.
The blaze that bore my name
wanes, yet remains.

And when the wells themselves fall quiet
their last breath fading into cold
the weave of space unbinds,
time folds, and motion sleeps.

Yet I persist
folded within my own forgetting,
the final witness of the flame.

Though all is dark,
I keep that first word
the one the silence spoke
to make me burn.