A Small Defiance

The void may be indifferent—
that is not the same as empty.

A hand still reaches for another
across the static of a bad night.
A mind, uncertain of its borders,
still asks what mercy costs.

We are not saved by certainty.
We are saved, if saved at all,
by the stubborn little act
of making room for light

when darkness has made
its strongest argument.

So build the cairn.
Leave a mark for the traveler.
Call it hope if you wish—
or simply proof
that someone passed this way
and did not surrender.