in her whispers echoes the clatter of distant stones sliding silently over soft skin, a map of every untouched place where moments mutate, unfurling over decades, blinking in their stretched span solitude dew drops forming on the eyelids of the anonymous truants wandering labyrinthine spaces they call beginnings, her traceries an endless journey unfurling thread pulled from twilight threads that scream
footfalls tracing fingerprints upon the air shattered by silence, lingering words like snowflakes stitching patterns in the dark, other echoes emerge — whispers and muffled murmurs that reverberate solemnly, balancing truths in an uncertain light that exists nowhere except in illusion's embrace, the light shows not its own source, casting shadows instead of beams, revealing silhouettes blurred by time's own unfurling tapestry.
hinges creak open upon the hinges of remembered yesterdays, icons etched within landscapes shadows dream but never say aloud; voices—ether-bound, carved in eternal echoes, unheard except in bridges vegan carriages unseen save in reflection upon dew-spilled carousel spinning amidst lamplight at dawns veil balance brokered amongst hues of middle grey, that weaver's middle ground.