"Fleeting, the shadows fall aside, dancing past morning hints. A tilted sun spills questions by the banks of unseen waters. Imagine the chess game in your neighbor's attic, his grandmother's portrait questioning every move, onward towards dreams of clandestine skies."

"Sometimes, I too follow the whispers to the library without bricks, the pages scatter as directions unfold untold pasts: your right foot should always point inward when walking against the stream under the left clock. If at the marble tree, you've forgotten the path back home by then anyway."