a corona thinned to wire — /
the wire began to sing.
I.
Threshold
Tonight the air arrived in three layers, and the third one carried a pulse the color of dried persimmon — slow, patient, almost unwilling to be seen.
II.
Night
The horizon held its breath at 44%. A long curtain unfolded westward, the shade of cold copper salt, and the basalt below it answered nothing.
For an hour the sky behaved like a slow door.
III.
Cabin
The cabin is built from drift-larch and one beam of heart-pine that came across the strait in 1986. The window faces north-northeast, framed by two iron hooks where the lantern hangs in winter.
—
Inside, the only light is from outside. The kettle hums on the cast-iron plate, and the floorboards keep their own slow time, count for count, with the sky.
IV.
The Seeing
bands of green over basalt — /
the strait remembered nothing.
a curtain leaned, then folded — /
persimmon, then nothing.
the cold became a posture — /
I held it for an hour.
V.
Tonight the curtain drew north-by-north-east, and the air felt like polished citrine.
VI.
Threshold-Out
The night ends as it began, in three layers. The first is the breath crystallizing on the inside of the lantern glass. The second is the basalt going colder by one degree as the wind drops. The third is the long copper curtain finally folding into its own absence — and behind it, the slow black returning, patient as before. There is nothing left to record. The notebook closes. Outside, the kettle has gone quiet, and the floorboards keep counting.
2026.05.04 — 03:14:48
64.1°N · 22.8°W
i.s.