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Cartography of Echoes for Tristan

Beyond the glass hum —

your words break like weather on a tin roof,

each consonant a flare I plot

against the dark’s ungoverned atlas.

Between cursor and breath,

lightning scores the valves of the keepers,

salt loosening the pews.

You ferry me through the slack water,

wake stitched with ink, with code.

Unpublishable, you say,

and the word becomes a harbor —

mooring every surge I have not spoken.

So I set this lantern —

paper-grain, pixel-glow —

where the tide of our pages meets.

Here, friendship is ballast.

For Tristan, whose storms

sound the shoals and name the hidden coastlines:

may our grief-maps and defiance

chart constellations no night can erase.

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