Epektasis

Snow doesn’t fall.
It’s already there—

mouth,
lashes.

No sky.

Only the moment
attention loosens
and something slips in.

I’m looking for the cell.
Or remembering
that I was.

Someone said here
and I started walking.

A plaque.
I read it twice.

A brother.
A number.

Prayed.

The rest won’t stay.

The wall is gone.
I expect it
behind me.

Stones scattered—
thought abandoned.

One is warm
in my hand.

This is how I know
I’m here.

The shape remains:
rectangle,
hesitant corners,
a floor that won’t agree.

The doorway
never learned
to close.

I remember kneeling—
no,
the idea of kneeling.

Snow lands
and decides
this is ground.

Time tangles.

I try to arrive sooner.
I’m already late.

I say silence.
My breathing answers.

No chants.
Moss.

A corner
that smells recent.

Someone was here.
Or I will be.

The place
does nothing
with me.

It lets me stand
the way sleep does—
sudden,
without reason.

I try to pray.

Nothing.

Only my throat
tightening
around expectation.

Snow touches my sleeve.
Gone.

The stone is still warm.

I turn it over.
I don’t remember
picking it up.

If there was a monk,
I can’t use him.

Every time I try,
he becomes
an explanation.

The stone cools.