Sunbaked amid the grains, stones stand sentinel, their lips dry like weather-worn cliffs._ Beneath the sandy ebb, so many ears listen to secrets blown by zephyrs — below lifeless tongues, inked in sanza script. Ears spun toward horizons nascent, sun blinking. Listen close: it spills.
As the ocean's frothing crest falls into repose, the whispers heighten. Were the whispers planes, their windshields, riverbeds reflecting; sacred grounds concealed behind locks coffined in iron.
"I saw the world arch; as if bewitched, I was born of split wood and breath abridged. Eternally, sleep within me. Eternal. In here resides that which never converges... fleeting dusk, eternal echoes." [iru, kris]
Navigate the murmurs— thread the nexuses networked where soft clays whisper lullabies unto closed shells. Less a tethered dream, more a book whose leaves sing when scrolled cross a night ether.
And thereafter, each curve of the sitting sun borne remembrance wove unseen threads upon turbaned earth, a beckoning confluence of stories... stories never said aloud. Meet desire at the path's ridge.
Wander further - Embrace distance