Thinking itself flutters and moves toward an obscurity that emits light. Immanence or change, candle or sun, the next constitutes a thought. In the ancient pattern of hope additions and deletions cost nothing, but to find what has been aggregated, one must dive into the shoals. Two of us traverse a cave, one to walk slow and the other in double time, measuring echo and delay, midpoint and null, bats calculating links in the colorless air. Movement is a language of gravity but desire appends another and another. There will be time to hunt a sequence of traces leading to something. While there is not nothing next, this node is next. Time's own signature glimpsing the coming moment and becoming it.