counterpart tender_square he voice betrayed his being as he sang of grief and how it sticks to the stomach, how it disallows any nutrient flow. i was at the counter with a bag of pink salt so big and finely ground, it could have been the dust of my whole heart; five pounds of veneration. i spilled the sack across the granite counter, accidental, with the worry it was a bad omen, too much to throw over my left shoulder without leaving a mountain the size of its namesake, himalaya. i stood in my kitchen, site and stand-in for alchemical process where two base materials transform into a new and singular essence. his voice was the instruction, an indirect recipe i followed as i listened—i could not exist without him now that the shape of us had been cast, and neither could he. and in the grains, there was magnesium, to aid in nerve function and energy production; calcium to fortify our bones; and potassium to keep our soul beat steady, a metronome clicking ahead of the seconds that spiraled out from clocks we forgave in earnest. 220104 what's it to you? who go blather from