XI The Tower
On exposure, limits, and risk
There was a winter
when the building
did not protect.
The tower was not insulated.
Wind moved
through the window frames.
At night,
the air inside
was no different
from the air outside.
I slept in layers.
Coats.
Wool.
Blankets that held shape,
but not heat.
Breath was visible
in the dark.
Morning arrived
without relief.
The kitchen
still required fire.
Hands moved.
Knives cut.
But warmth
did not return.
Fatigue began
in the body.
Then it moved inward.
Thought slowed.
Language thinned.
Emotion narrowed
to maintenance.
Standing upright
required decision.
Not metaphorically.
Literally.
There was no word
for it.
Only continuation.
Meals were prepared.
Guests were received.
Inside,
something had given way.
The cold
was not the cause.
It was the exposure.
Nothing absorbed
the strain.
Nothing intervened.
For the first time,
I understood
that independence
includes this risk:
disappearance.
Winter passed.
The knowledge
did not.
Collapse
was not outside the work.
It was within.