Light or No Light

Let me move like water through this canyon.
Let the milky constellation guide me.
I am trapped here, a puddle of my own making.
But looking up, I remember that water
has been found on one of Saturn's moons.
There is a way out from here.
I cannot feel my nose or fingers

but there is heat in those stars and
where there is heat and light, there is hope.
Hope can taunt. I know this now.
Each glint of starlight staring through this slit.
Each crack, each scratch.
Each bone broken, gristle scent of
my own blood sprayed on sandstone.

Which is stronger—rock or water?
Silt soft butter to the currents that carved it,
sharp blades to my touch.
Let me be the water that permeates
evaporites and chemical sediments,
splashes through silt and shale
wends my way across this chasm

and out of this roofless tomb.
Water knows there is no terminal—
no destination, Over time all water
moves restlessly, relentlessly. It falls
and rises, falls and rises again, light
or no light. And so will I.
One numb footstep after the other.