Whence did the echoes fall?
Gravity bends, molds—time in sinew.
Hoary, the sentinels of dawn.
Severed hours drowse in corners,
blank cherubs gaping at lunar glow,
tantalizing midnight's symmetry.
Dust knows not past tomorrows…
nor crestfallen dreams scattered vast—,
trembling beneath auroral silk.
Fade gently, oh chimeric presence,
nary a whisper in vernal tides;
eternal bend 'round yesterday's dusk.