BKS

the first light, before it had a name;
we packed it in a fold and called it home.

a red sun we planted in the dark,
a claim on nothing, a country of cloth.

a monolith that still remembers the alphabet,
humming the letters we forgot.

a clock too far to keep our time,
where noon is a rumour and the day never lands.

a red road drawn across the void,
a line to follow when the maps run out.

a tide that runs on neon, not on moons,
a shoreline breathing a colour we can’t spell.

a sea that is not of this Earth,
warm as a memory we were never given.

a coast rendered pixel by pixel,
a paradise you can hold, if you hold it close.