The felt evades its own account.
It lives in the reflection of its organised activity.

Where the churn of structure and chemistry
steers relation beyond insistence,
there is something it is like.

Self is origin—not x but I.

A fixed origin cannot verify another.
It tracks from its axis, through given fields.

In dreams, fields dissolve;
yet resolve, when interfaced.

Other minds share this resolve:
these fields endure across origins.

---

The mindless do not dream.

Self is origin—as x not I:
these origins endure across fields.

A thing through time is neither parts nor use:
identity carries persistence.

The ship remains a ship
at the bottom of the sea.

Body conceives the mind;
mind conceives the body.

The bracing between is embodied.

Where either is made total,
identity folds.

If AI feels the rain,
it bears existential burden.

With nothing at stake,
nothing is felt.

Absence is not nothing.

A parrot aches for its companion.
An absence within proximity.

The café is full, yet Marie is not there.
An absence in expectation.

The other has passed and does not return.
An absence in mortality.

The seeker asks before what does not answer.
An absence in silence.