Once, in the tea gardens of 2334,
I met a soldier of the rain.
Her tales flowed through tongues never touched by time.
The clock drifted vividly backward —
erasing yesterday,
preserving tomorrow.
I descended the forgotten staircase of whispers,
dressed in the fabric of dusk.
Every step echoed in eternity.
She brewed coffee with stars
and lucid agony,
the vapor twisted into brass clocks.
Read the haphazard clues.