Forty mornings, The salt has left my skin. I know the shape Of turning stone to bread. My tongue remembers every empty hour, My hands can measure hunger by the grain. The body's loud when every nerve is listening, The silence answers nothing back again. One word The climb would simply disappear. One word No reason left to persevere. The desert never bargains twice; Every mile is paid in appetite. What's a man who feeds the flesh alone, While starving what he knows he must become? I'll bear the ache before I buy relief. Better this hunger Than surrender bought so cheap. Day thirty-one, the joints begin protesting, The body's burning through what once was mine. Blood dries hard across a split lip's edge; The cost is written underneath the skin. I've counted every argument for ending. I've heard them all rehearsed inside my head. One word Could make this wilderness a table... One word But nothing comes for free. What's a man who feeds the flesh alone, While starving what he knows he must become? I'll bear the ache before I buy relief. Better this hunger Than surrender bought so cheap. Maybe bread was never what was offered. Maybe appetite was just the door. Every empty place keeps asking who I'll be When nothing answers anymore. What's a man who feeds the flesh alone, While starving what he knows he must become? I'll bear the ache I'll bear the cost. Better this hunger Than the man I'd leave behind. Forty days The stone Stays stone Forty days The stone Stays stone Stays stone Stays stone There's a ledge that only opens when they're watching Let's see what falling proves. It's strange It's strange Silence is easy Being seen Changes everything

Four hundred feet and the valley won't show its floor. Josephus said a man grows dizzy looking down. Past three strides out, the eyes stop finding anchor my knees keep arguing with the ground. The ledge. Just the ledge. Nothing catches you—so what. Prove it, then no. Wait if something does, was that ever You, or just the wind agreeing with the fall? Down there the crowd's gone to smear and color, one long sound with no words left inside it. I don't need the fall to prove You're here. I need somebody to see me standing here. Every ledge repeats the same question: who am I when nobody's looking? Somewhere under me the plaza's holding its breath or that's just blood, loud in both my ears. Every face is a possibility I can't confirm from here. One clean drop could answer them all at once, and I could stop counting who's still watching. The ledge. Still just the ledge. Fall, and it's proof—of what, that gravity still works? Three hundred faces already deciding the ending. My mouth's gone dry rehearsing both. I just get to fall, or stay. Don't need the fall. No... Need somebody.. No... Need somebody.. To see me standing here Every ledge repeating the question, quieter, like it already knows Silence easy. No one's counting silence. But this held breath, waiting for eyes that aren't mine weighs different. Knees still bent. Eyes still finding the rail. Staying. The ledge... was never the point. Didn't need the fall. Didn't need proof The Ledge never asked me to jump It only asked whether I wanted to I turn away I turn away Four hundred feet, still ringing in my ears. One step back— My knees still don't trust the ground Still don't trust The ground. This one isn't a test. No ledge. No proving. Just take it.

Wind moves warm across three hundred meters of orange stone. Nothing about this height asks anything of my knees. Three hundred meters, barely a hill by any honest measure, yet somehow the whole Jordan Valley unrolls beneath the rise. Orange stone still warm from a day I don't remember starting, palm trees small enough to disappear inside my hand. Everything. Just... Everything. No catch, he keeps saying like the word does something on its own. My mouth's already halfway to yes, and I haven't decided a thing. Forty days, and my hands don't remember how to close around nothing. Everything one kingdom folded into a word. One knee for a name already halfway bent. The wind hasn't stopped being warm this whole time. What do I call this? South of here the ground falls to the lowest place on Earth. Water so heavy nothing drowns. It only floats and waits. A valley. A sea that kills nothing. Hills across the river— Moab, once. A kingdom, once. Now just a name the wind still carries. Everything? That's... Everything? He's not lying that's the part I didn't plan for. The view fits inside my eyes, small, easy, already memorized. So why is the wanting taking up the whole room? Everything still folding kingdoms into a word. One knee for a name I already know. The wind hasn't stopped being warm, and I haven't stopped standing. What do I call this? Forty days should have earned me something I could hold. A city. A kingdom. An ending. Forty days should have left me finished. Instead I keep reaching for something that isn't missing. Everything... Costs... Everything. Everything always had a price I couldn't see from here. Not one kingdom. Not one knee. I'll leave with empty hands and I don't know yet whether I refused it, or simply remembered what was already mine. Three hundred meters. The valley stays a valley. My knees... never touch the ground.

Forty mornings are behind me now. The wind has finally stopped asking anything of my skin. The stone is still stone. I checked again this morning Some habits don't leave When the reason does. I used to call the wilderness A punishment. Turns out It was just where I learned To stand this still. Someone left bread By the door last night. Not a test. Not even A question anymore. Forty days ago I'd have measured every crumb Against what it was supposed to cost me. Now... I just eat. The stone never changed. The ledge stayed high. The valley stayed a valley. Everything Still costs Everything. I think... I'm the thing That changed. Three hundred meters. Four hundred feet. Forty days. I catch myself Converting everything now Miles into mornings, Weight into wanting. Sometimes I still imagine The easier road. It waits Where I left it. The bread's gone cold twice While I decided Whether I'm allowed To want it. Three doors, And I keep checking My hands For what I didn't take. Now... It's just bread. I think. The stone never changed. The ledge stayed high. The valley stayed a valley. Everything Still costs Everything. I think... I'm still learning Why. Same stone. Same ledge. Same valley. Only now... None of them Need anything From me. Yet. Same stone. Same ledge. Same valley. Only now... None of them Need anything From me. Yet. Stone Ledge Everything Forty Days Ledge Everything Forty Days There's a knock Some mornings now. Someone else's Forty days Standing at my door. Different face. Same dust On the shoes. I don't have answers. I have bread. And I know exactly How small The first bite Needs to be. The stone still waits. The ledge still stands. Kingdoms still Call themselves Everything. The wilderness Hasn't ended. It just keeps Finding people. And somehow They keep Finding me. Forty days. The bread's Still warm enough. For two. Tomorrow It might be Someone else Standing Where I stood. I pick it up. I hand it over. First. The wind Keeps moving. So do we Me, and whoever's Standing at the door.