In the cradle of an empty wing,
shadows cast over cobbled remains,
tiny hearts sputter under the weight
of unheard song and falling grace.
Reverberations fold here,
in light dwindled rooms—
the whispers are gusts
that sift through woven dreams.
Loiter along the edges
of happenstance paths—
watch the scattered air align,
vein-like through ephemeral spaces.