SOURLAND

Not destruction, but what remains.

Silence as presence.
Aftermath as form.

Matter altered, yet holding memory.
Spaces don’t narrate, they retain.

Like skin around a wound,
trauma doesn’t disappear, it settles.

Fractures become language.
Debris becomes texture.
Absence becomes density.

A landscape as body:
enduring, breaking, transforming.

Not an end, but a condition.
Not resolution, but persistence.

A record of what does not vanish.