Mneme
You stay still. Press your spine against the stone until the darkness learns your shape. Years bleed away before you know them as years. You cradle your wounds – trembling that healing will steal them from you. Then the stone gives. A crack, no wider than a breath. Through it: one star. Then another. Then more sky than the crack can hold. Your hands move before thought. Fingers find the crack, close, and refuse to let go.








