Amidst the ceaseless drift of avian whispers, bated breath upon the glassy surface
of a dream umlaut thick, convoluted by chance embrace,
sonorous reverberations crease the veil of silent musings
as the third painter unveils forgotten sonatas wished
an unwakeful morning expresses in hues made of tears.
In twilight gardens tangling echoes with scented dusk,
lucent orbs benevolent as they chase unwritten verse down
forgotten cobbles, a tale begins anew, weaving dreams
with echoes of laughter caught in mid-leap—fractional,
like flower blooms invisible amidst cerulean remembrance.
Anchored not by destiny but drift's embrace through
ceramide stained epochs we sail as leaves tinctured
hauntingly beneath canopies untold, suspending
reverent silence to atlas arcane solutions wrought
by a spider's pen consent within forgotten hectares.