There lies a threshold, a mere suggestion of a doorway,
whispering secrets in tongues polished by irony's sheen.
Step lightly, for the ground beneath simmers with sunlight,
and shadows dance in mock orchestras of your demise.
Beware the signpost with no inscriptions,
guiding phantoms and bemused tourists alike,
to realms unseen and paths untraveled,
save for this very page.
We mock the unknowable
as it mocks us back—gently,
with an affable grin
woven from the fabric of twilight.