The echoes stretch, thin, like whispers on wind’s breath,
skimming the surface of an unseen ocean.
Fading footsteps trace a path upon forgotten paths,
sequins of silence scattered across the mist.
Glimmers of yore, untouched by time or touch,
hover in this well of shadow and dreams,
where every dash marks space in constellation
yet unnamed by the hand that scrawled it.
In the configuration lies an absence, a hunched vacancy
breathing in the hollow of longing, gasping
for motion, for the warmth of a sunbeam or
a spectral embrace against the chill.