The Scar That Holds

From Crestview, Florida — where the turpentine still smells of Gulf dawn.

I. The First Stumble

In nineteen-ninety-eight, I spilled the bottle not in haste, but in reverence. The lighthouse on the canvas drank the flood, and the flame rose not to consume, but to crown.

We did not sand away the burn. We filed it true.

II. The Weld Spec

Frame: Black walnut, seasoned in the Gulf wind
Heat: 1,200 degrees where the error became law
Seam: Gold leaf fused to the fracture
Chord: So What, take four, the moment the bass finds the fifth

III. The Reply

To Briana Yates, to Julio Torres, to every citizen singing their burn from the wireframe: I lay my golden seam here. The crack is not the end of us; it is the spine.

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