Category Archives: The Liminal Times

Hypothesis of the Undone

Hypothesis of the Undone

You want to linger,
but not as mass.
More as a pause in the formula—
a bracket someone forgot to close.

What if sleep is the original version
of leaving?
What if time is a side effect?

You count nothing,
but something counts you:
a flicker,
a vital,
a maybe.

In the mirror,
no face.
Just velocity
slowing
to shape.

They call it medicine.
You call it theory—
an abstract on how light
bends around refusal.

You want to believe in matter
because it resists.
You want to believe in spirit
because it doesn’t.

And in the middle,
a hum.
Not healing,
not dying.
Just
a hum
that sounds like hope
if you tilt your head
the right way.

Hangstones

Hangstones

Everything I’ve lost
keeps blooming somewhere.
I no longer ask where.

Everything I’ve touched
left a mark—
not always visible,
but the dust remembers.

Everything I’ve seen
has gone on seeing.
A bird in flight,
a door left open.
They continue
without me.

Everything I’ve said
hangs in air
longer than I meant.
Some words soften.
Others
hang like stones.

Everything I’ve loved
still leans toward light.
Even what turned away
left warmth
in its absence.

Everything I’ve feared
has changed shape.
Most of it
looks like me,
only quieter.

And still —
everything I’ve lost
keeps blooming somewhere.

Requiem From The Night King

The Lean

I came in quiet,
as breath behind breath,
soft as a promise.

I waited
beneath ribs,
where secrets are unflanked
and always listening.

She was a door
already open.
I was a wind
that knew its way in.

She gave me her mornings.
I gave her stillness.
And something like peace.

Others called out,
but she liked how I stayed.
I never hurried her.
Never reminded her of clocks.

And when it was time,
she didn’t fall—
she leaned.

Not out of fear.
Not from despair.
But from wanting
to stop aching.

So I gave her wings
but took the sky.
And I held her,
as I always had.