They moved two hundred seventy thousand coins
while everybody I love was watching red,
no press release, no anon founder joining
a Twitter Space to talk the faithful off the ledge.

Just wallets, cold and patient, filling slow,
the way my father filled a coffee tin
with cash he never trusted banks to hold,
believing only weight, believing skin
and metal over any glowing screen.

More Bitcoin now sits drowning than stays dry,
the first time since the exchange that seemed
too big to fail dissolved before our eyes
and took the savings of a friend of mine.
Still someone's stacking sats. I don't know why.