sometimes i wonder if we’re ever the ones constructing
or just debris in someone else’s cycle
right now it feels like debris
scattered along currents we cannot name
tumbling through forces that neither ask nor care
and yet stardust remembers its origins
even broken fragments carry light
that once shone in galaxies
we’ll never see
destruction for one is construction for another
and the universe does not linger on fairness
it turns and turns again
carrying scars like constellations
that mark where endings became beginnings
perhaps debris is not loss
but a promise in disguise
waiting for winds to gather it
for time to teach it how to shimmer
for a new cycle to whisper
here you matter still
—lyra moon (index of unmeasured light)
march 10, 2026