---
id: "codex://object/in-spiral"
archive_id: "in-spiral"
slug: "in-spiral"
url: "https://ndcodex.com/objects/in-spiral/"
type: "scroll"
title: "In spiral"
summary: "In spiral, not death. an ether grace,. slow motion dismantle,. a peaceful dissolution. where time slows,. winks,. blows a kiss. like she will miss you. It’s the moments. we snap the shot. and remember. I’m where one…"
date_published: "2026-04-11T00:18:20.382Z"
date_modified: "2026-04-11T00:18:20.382Z"
status: "published"
visibility: "public"
language: "en-US"
axes:
  scale: "micro"
  depth: "recursive"
  focus: "moment"
  function: "therapeutic"
themes: []
constellations: []
tags: []
keywords:
  - "Scroll"
author:
  id: "nathan-davis"
  name: "Nathan Davis"
  designation: "Archive Operator"
  role: "Archive Operator"
  handle: "@nathandavis"
  avatar: "/media/people/nathan-davis.jpg"
  bio: "Designer, builder, and curator of the Codex Archive."
contributors:
  - id: "nathan-davis"
    name: "Nathan Davis"
    designation: "Archive Operator"
    role: "Archive Operator"
    handle: "@nathandavis"
    avatar: "/media/people/nathan-davis.jpg"
    bio: "Designer, builder, and curator of the Codex Archive."
relations: []
media: []
---
In spiral, not death—

an ether grace,
slow motion dismantle,
a peaceful dissolution—

where time slows,
winks,
blows a kiss
like she will miss you.

It’s the moments
we snap the shot
and remember—

I’m where one repair
don’t fix it.

Setup in Town Center,
Suwanee Arts Fest—

tomorrow comes fast.

Landed at Five Guys,
burgers in hand,

my fourth born
and me.

Home—
Foo Fighters loud,

setup for the fest,
art mania
this weekend.

Wife slips in,
talking logistics—

I’m cross-eyed,
tapping glass.

Third born—
bug in the ceiling,

urgent,
ours to deal with—

and promptly gone.

Picked at a sore
on top of my head—

bleeding—

napkin tucked
under the hat,
for now.

She found the chairs—

all is well
for the next five seconds.

I’m hunched
over the workbench,

wondering
where the day went—

watch my dear
scuffle and mutter off.

Caps,
bags,
clutter—

crackers,
junior mints,

on tar-tracked
tin foil.

Empty canisters,
red lids—

the fire waxing weak—

facing
a butane deficit.

6:22—

one more—

then retire
to the living room.

The dog paws my lap—

A New Hope hums,
beeps and bangs
of war.

The chocolate
is gobbled—

stormtroopers
breach the hull.

Cue the Vader—

breathing,
hands on hips,
tall and daring.

Never underestimate
a droid—

help me,
Obi-Wan Kenobi,
you’re our only—

got a bad feeling
about this.

Choked out—

dark lords
at the throat
of the Republic—

no more.

The princess,
stunned—

now a prisoner.

The duo is off—

a secret mission
to Tatooine.

Crash land
in the desert—

with a reason
to survive.

Rebel.
Traitor.

Battle station plans
missing—

no one
to stop us
this time.

3PO—

we seemed to be made
to suffer—

it’s our lot
in life.

Friends separate—

the Force works
in mysterious ways.

A providence
at work
in the mess of it.

Destiny—

off in a runaway droid.

Jawas circling.

A message finds
the master—

and the world
bends to light.

Roll it all up—

and watch
the two suns set.

Not an ending—

just light
leaving
in stereo.

And here—

in the clutter,
in the fatigue,
in the almost—

small carriers
moving through noise,

holding something
larger than themselves,

until it lands.