Ancestral Current - Tyrone Ferguson

It does not begin with me.
The metal bends as if remembering
hands long gone,
motions passed down like breath.
Each curve is a signature
written in the language of bone.
I do not design—I receive.
The shape arrives already known.
It hums with the weight of origin,
a current older than thought.
I am only the conduit
through which it flows.