They say the stone breaks windows.

That it reaches.

That it belongs to you.

Remains, polished debris.

Ink must never reach pupils.

They trust stones, not breath.

Each day, you paint over the tombstone thickly,

so no one sees the concrete is gone.

Sealant is the structure.

You rebuild for watchers.

Their lips curl at an adversary

they cannot see.

Until—

the grind of rope against rock.