“unsigned horizon”
The horizon stays unsigned,
a gray span that won’t take a mark.
The raft holds by its own inward pull,
nothing formal keeping it together.
No place for the shore to grab hold,
no cut in the wood for a hook
to turn it toward the wharf.
When the cloud cover hardens into a wall,
and the air drops in its own weight,
the mind has to adjust to that dimness.
It learns to breathe underwater,
to keep a small counter‑current alive
while the world asks for a choice
it has no right to ask for.
The shore’s light keeps searching—
looking for a gap, a point to press—
and meets only a surface
that offers nothing back.
The sun rises needing no agreement,
moving in its own slow way,
a gold that holds even as dark pushes in—
gold behind the grey,
heat that stays when the rest goes cold,
steady enough to keep
the raft in one piece.
“Heat that stays when the rest goes cold,” that is a good line. it can be used in a way to mean so many things. Very thought provoking
Yes! Thanks, Fía; that is so wonderful and so much appreciated 🙏🏻🕊️