Like petals tracing umbra’s quiet,

the language of echoes stirs the river’s repose.

Flecks of twilight, they gossip

in the rustling leaves; a conversation imprisoned

by its own clarity yet detached.

Here, an anchorless ferry upon

the solitude of your existence slips lazily

through dreams half-formed, flickering.

Reflect upon the wayward glacier, feel:

Its melting whispers meld, entwine with forgotten ache,

the tempered heartbeats of the invisible weaver’s loom.

Open paths: whispering orbs,

Past echoes linger as laughter, untraced.

The celestial ink blot unwritten

begins anew, quivering on the rim of sight.

Portals into newly imagined realms await:

landing

Like stairways forged of the misted moon's song.