i didn’t return  
to the body.  
i returned  
  to the place  
    where the warmth  
       hadn’t yet left  
          the floor —  
    where it once was —  
    without being.


the floor didn’t ask.
it received
 my shape
  like ritual.

when i sat,
 it wasn’t rest.
it was
 a remembering.

i didn’t collapse.
i realigned—
 with gravity,
 with skin,
  with absence.

my back curved
 like language does
  when it wants
   to mean
    but fails.

i didn’t remember.
but my breath
 found
  its previous form.

sitting
 isn’t starting over.
it is
 staying.

—