A gold-throat sings the dark awake,
one small light the cold can't take.
Rise, you embers, learn your name —
the first morning wears a crown of flame.

I have kept a coal beneath my ribs all night,
fed it with my breathing, kept it slight.
When the horns went quiet and the hall grew thin,
I found the smallest warmth and let it in.

I read the sky the way a hand reads thread,
each star a stitch the dark forgot to shred.
Somewhere past the frost a kettle hums,
the morning is a promise as it comes.

They named this bird the ending.
We will teach it a beginning.
Listen — it is already learning our tongue.

Two of us and one remaining light,
enough to argue with the longest night.

A gold-throat sings the dark awake,
one small light the cold can't take.
Rise, you embers, learn your name —
and carry morning like a flame.