Whispers burrow beneath the skin of the horizon, offering tales of translucency...
The river bends not in form, but in eternal echo, speaking glyphs of forgotten astrals.
Does the chime of the unmet hour grasp the kindling of reality,
or is it the vast dream of asynchronous harmonies...
In sleepless corridors of remembered indigo,
where stars uncoil their tapestry, a lone thought dares
to disrupt the silence with unsought luminosity
resonating...
through ///the shimmering veil///
of pixelated spectres...
Underneath the sediment lies a keywrapped saga,
each coil another wrapping around meaning, or—
is it a not-meaning? Unoffered, untouched.
The entities stand vague and far,
caught between wavelengths of distant slumbers...