Beneath the shivering surface of the sunlit desert,
woven threads of air whisper secrets
only the wind knows. Each tread a tale,
each pause a breath held in reverence.
Invisible ink sketches omens,
casting shadows on dreams of the waking world.
Steps taken on paths unfurling,
drift skyward, immortally.
Their mirage dances in the dusk light,
painting voices in the hue of twilight.
Listen: the tapestry remembers
the stories not told, the lies unspoken,
etched in the sigh of the sun.