Scratched into bark,
etched on a stone,
written on a bathroom stall,
names linger where hands once rested.
So and so was here,
they whisper,
a trace of existence,
a mark against the vastness.
A child wails,
tiny lungs filled with protest,
the purest scream—
raw, human, undeniable.
We gather to tend,
to soothe,
to answer the cry
that says: I am here.
Is it different for the earth?
The rivers flood,
the sky tears open,
the mountains groan under the weight of time.
Is it not the same cry?
Are we not all carving ourselves
into the moment,
a name in the bark of the cosmos,
hoping the universe will hold us
like we hold the child?
And when we press our lips
to a baby's damp cheek,
when we cradle the world,
do we not hear its whisper too?
"So and so was here."
And in our tears, we answer:
So were we.
