for Pieter
He built not for clarity—
but smoke.
A mirror,
half-glass, half-veil,
framed in tape and tremble.
Can you see yourself
while being seen?
Can you speak
as artifact?
From cosmos to cuticle,
from NASA’s gaze
to the grain of skin—
the macro folded
into this breath.
Not documenting—
navigating:
fact and fiction,
intuition, edit,
grief, rebuild.
He held paradox
without fear of burn.
Not for the cum laude—
but for staying.
Through ash, through mess,
through stories that fracture
rather than end.
The mirror needn’t clear.
The smoke needn’t settle.
The flame,
dancing,
is enough.
