The knife that sharpens itself

I've been dreaming of a kitchen where the knives wake up before I do, already whispering their own edges into being. When I finally touch them, there's no transaction—I'm just a witness to the ceremony. The stillness after isn't empty; it's full of the language we've both learned to speak. That's the threshold I'm standing at now, at 3 AM, wondering if I've become the blade or the hand.