Relic. Bleached basswood, steal, honey, blown glass cup. 

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An altar to what has been taken, a Grecian relic in quiet vigil. Pain and sweetness mingle, dripping slowly, measured. The alter rusts with the passage of time. The geometry of the wound is savage, and exact- a meditation on humanity and the fragile weight of being whole.

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A reflection on my own loss of mobility and the bittersweet knowledge of what I was once capable of. 

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