In whispers underneath the tectonic plate of perception,
where meanings settle like sedimentary imprints of thought,
a question echoes, refracted, unending—who remembers, who knew?
Puff of dusts dance in spectral sunbeams
illuminating intaglio memories ensconced in silence.
"Remember when shadows spoke to light?"
asks the uncarved stenographer of imagination's edge.
Fossils of forgotten chords linger, smothered
beneath the expanding silence:
the echo-chamber hums, not for joy or lament,
but for companionship in now eternal night.