In the dim corridors of what once was, shadows caress the walls
with whispers of forgotten melodies. A project, a dream, a breath,
sweeping across the impermanent stage, where the dancers, ephemeral,
spin in fractured light - a moment lost, a thought adrift.
Onto the stage they wander, like mist before dawn
weaving the tapestry of moments yet named or stolen,
or so I think, as they flicker at the edges of perception,
a sonnet written on the breeze, unheard, unseen.
The thoughts beside the currents of time
swirl like leaves caught in a vivid dream,
perhaps a longing, perhaps a consequence,
forgotten but palpable.