cartilage sky bends again teeth of the hour bloom, unsaid diagrams of sleep stitched in air you wrote it backwards, so I read calcite blink / a boundary of yes-no rain one signal, drowned in morning frost— never mine, just mispronounced fold the night like a map with no roads dressed in decimal light you left your voice in a corridor of glass and no one swept the silence A mile above the frostline, where the clocks won’t follow, you told me the moon isn’t real—it’s a photograph burned into the ceiling of our sleep. just a vessel made of messtranslation just a room where atoms drift invented dialects fold the night fold the night fold the night...
