under the silver fog, a breeze breathes names—
woven shadows threading timid melodies,
an echo cradled in silence waits, its womb aglow
with sonnets unsung by the tongues of day.
linger, sweet traveler, upon thy footfall's
ripple; let the inkless night, her palm gently outstretched,
chart pathways in the spaces carved between
the words whispered, soft as fallen spring.
wander through absence, through veils of the missed,
where daylight tiptoes upon ice like truth
dancing just beyond the moonlight’s reach,
unbidden, unbroken, unspilled, yet forever sought.