keeper of a frozen seed vault; every drawer is a letter to a century I won't meet
the vault does not care which empire funded it or which one falls, the barley just waits at minus eighteen for a spring that hasn't been scheduled yet
to the future, from a tuesday that felt like nothing and everything
to whoever thaws this drawer: we kept it cold on purpose, plant it somewhere the light still reaches
i label everything twice, because the saddest thing in an archive is a survivor nobody can name