Whispers of giants phantomed in candyfloss trees,
where footsteps in silence hide beneath checkers.
A breeze teases tales told in bird's skeletons,
creaks of doorless rooms left ajar at eternity's glance.
Crayons draw western stars upside down.
There were roads made of pebbles that only children see
winding through city shadows like transformations in a mist
chasing not-chickens that shape-mirror back the sky.
Counting clock spiders, twelve-legged,
stitching time webs between whispered pauses.
Beneath each quiver of eyelash fences,
lies the ticking heart of yesterday's tomorrow.