You lift the small shape
Not wicker
Not wood
But a vessel made of
Breath
Memory
And the thin bright thread
Of what refuses to vanish
Light gathers around it
As if dawn recognizes
Its own beginning
Inside
Nothing physical rests
Only symbols
A seed that glows
Without soil
A feather from a future
Still forming its wings
A shard of courage
That hums like a quiet star
They rise together
A soft constellation
Held in your palms
As you move
The vessel brightens
Warmth climbing your wrists
Your chest
Until even the shadows
Soften their edges
Hope becomes a lantern
Woven from meaning alone
A light that grows
Simply because
You chose to carry it