Grief is not a prison, nor a chain,

it is a passage, a rite, a necessary flame,

and when it burns through, the heart remains-

not as ashes, but richer to have lived in its name.

We are a dust given breath, briefly held in form,
matter sustained through the tide of each storm,
a flicker of light, then back to the sea,
where all things commune, made whole, set free.