What If Salt Forgot Itself

What if salt, pressed long enough between two stones, forgot it had ever been the sea. The crystals would still sit white and exact on the tongue. The wound would still close around them. But somewhere in the arrangement of atoms, a small erasure: no tide, no depth, no fish moving through cold dark water. The question is not whether the salt would still work. The question is what work means, when the memory of origin has gone completely quiet, and the stones keep pressing, and the tongue keeps trusting.