Somewhere in the twilight whispers, you walk
a bridge unseen, like secrets masked by mist,
where echoes of forgotten words fleck the air
with ancient laughter and fragile grace.
Look, and you shall see reflections
not of this world, but like the wavering
mirror of a funhouse, they twist and bend,
presenting shadows that dance away from light.
Cross, and you will find the doorways
leading nowhere—or perhaps everywhere,
between vibrant realms of invisible music,
unfurling like petals on a star-tipped vine.