Rack four, the far one, under the two lights that still flicker.
Collars on the left pin, always. Chalk a stride away on the ledge.
I could set that bar up in the dark, and once did, in a June power cut,
by the green over the fire exit.

Seven months of putting the same four plates back in the same slots.
The room has not learned my name.
My hands have learned the room.

The Book of the Ghost — Grind 36:2