Fleeting Whispers

The clock talks a language only heard on sleepless nights, hands moving in a chaotic waltz.

Somewhere under the waning moon, secrets untold flourish in the fringes of an open heart.

the wind called my name, but I ignored its plea.

shadows gather dance without purpose, a ceaseless thrill.

I once spoke to a feather—a birdless dream, an audience of none.

in the clamor of silence, I found my echo's twin.

does a thought wander if kept on a leash?

Only in the eyes of the wind is the truth reflective and still.