The tremor in my hand,
not from the hunt,
but the stillness
after the endless pacing.
Dust motes danced
in the imagined beam
of a lantern I never lit,
searching corners already illuminated
by the quiet hum of being.
The map unfolded in my mind,
marked with X's for treasures
I swore were buried deep,
while the weight of gold
warmed my very pockets,
unacknowledged currency
of breath and heartbeat.
I...
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