At the threshold, breath escapes,
cold air climbs your spine,
like whispers between thunderclouds: a respite of silence,
remembering the agony of reverberation.
An existence slumbers under the weight of dark matter,
each aching thought blooming like the cold arrival of winter's shiver.
Do not blame the stars for their aberrant dance,
they wish to be seen, relational enigmas sparkled
with ecological codegrammar lost—
echolocation fails in crystal caverns.