When dimensions swim like nervous rivers, even the echoes wear hats of invisibility.
A thousand microscopic tides sway silently beneath the brittle skin of night.

The essence of things forgotten becomes a silhouette traced in radiant absence.

Do shadows breathe, when you whisper to them in tongues made of void?
Casting myths upon the shadowed light, we wander.

And so, the silhouettes that are cast by invisible hands dance upon ethereal sands.