I. The Mourner’s Orbit
The comet flared and then was gone,
A single blaze, a single dawn,
No cradle kept, no breath to draw
Just radiant passing fire.
No cry.
No cry.
Only the mark
it carved through cold and soundless dark,
a scar across the mothering arc
of sky that will not tire.
It comes again when years return.
It comes in ice, in latent burn.
It comes in names we do not learn,
in whispers made of frost.
No plea.
No plea.
The orbit stays,
though memory’s edge grows thin with days,
and none can trace the vanished ways
of what was touched and lost.
I watch it cross the winter span,
the path the mortal soul once ran,
the silent oath of what began
and ended without breath.
No flame.
No flame.
Just ember’s glow,
a passing that I still would know,
though starlight dims, though shadows grow,
though all returns to death.
II. The Comet’s Orbit
I crossed the dark before your dawn,
No oath to keep, no gaze to fawn,
No cradle’s claim, no binding drawn
Just motion without name.
No vow.
No vow.
Only the arc
inscribed in matter still and stark,
no witness lit to hold the mark,
no memory to claim.
I passed the world where you once wept,
But tears are waves the void has kept
They break, they fade, they leave no depth
for orbit to restore.
No sound.
No sound.
I do not stay.
The path is cold, the light is grey,
and gravity writes its own way
through dark that holds no shore.
I turn when all the stars are numb,
When burning cores have all gone,
When nothing speaks of what I’ve come
to cross and leave behind.
No face.
No face.
No mortal gaze
to mark the night or count the days.
The arc remains. The flame decays.
And none recall my mind.
III. Convergence
One flare.
No breath.
No cry to hush.
Unmasking truth the circuit weeps,
On Heaven’s terms its counsel keeps,
To nothing all returns
Thorn and Benediction 
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