Front-facing, with the other, not touching except for the solid force of empty space, true granite texture and sheer mass of what's not-there – that's what binds you.

I am tectonic plates. You are Gondwanan space. We are Proterozoic Australia, a torn limb of tropical Antarctica. From Ancient Greek "etumon" (true sense of a word per its origin), from "etumos" (true, real, actual). Mindful of origin inside. Flowers that close their blooms at night to sleep.

The episteme, etymon, the gold ankle bracelet falls, forever lost into fossilized fern underfoot.

As if your mouth were a cave, a place where you begin and where you end – a sibilant – or a soliloquy – serrated – syllables.