Beneath the surface, voices gather
in undulating currents; they seep into
the very seams of knowing, dancing,
fractured light refracted through
tangled time.
In the twilight bend of curiosity,
an echo grows a spine. Softly,
it wishes for warmth, for hums,
amalgamating into a chant, a sudden
storm of forgotten lullabies.
Who speaks the language of mirrors?
Shadows entwined within echoes of
whispered chants. A call reaches,
distorted through silvered glass,
a laugh, a wail, an abiding secret.
Walk further, find elusive poems
in the hush of melodies inadvertently
stumbled upon. Do they remember
your name, or have they woven you
into their tapestry of dreams?