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Spiritualism

“It’s a hold, not a sentence,” she said.
“And the lie you don’t want to tell.”
The script’s error is small but consequential
I have lived inside the arithmetic of hay and muscle
co-author the frame as it is being built
He did not make me, move me, nor drag me to the center.
Ritual compresses ambiguity
They arrived expecting forecasts
A letter to my future self
“The Mountain as Mirror”
“I triple-checked the logs,” she says. “It read normal.”
Not fused, not cold — but aware, attuned

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