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The walls of the sanctuary gathered light as if remembering its passage. I arrived at the end of day, breath already slowed, footsteps behind me dissolved. She stood above, carved into the eastern wall—not as dancer, but as flame held still. Her presence was not declared, but offered. The gold of the setting sun touched her not through sky, but through memory—reflected, carried, returned. She did not rise into light. The light knelt toward her.

light without a source
brushing the mouth of still stone
as if to recall


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