Footfalls echo through the mist.
Clocks are lost; time does not share.
Shadows argue with the wind,*
seeking lingering warmth between the edges of destinations.
Where once I spoke, not all was heard.
The adjectives wandered, robbed of nouns.
Angles of light fracture, weaving stories to be forgotten.
Silence cracks, memories scatter like leaves.
You are here, yet not see your reflection.
Words fall like rain, evaporating rapidly...
What manual could contain such phrases?
† Warping Textures of Solitude (2010), Ch355 : An Essay.
* Some Missing Traces (1998), G8: Collected Dialogues.
Links woven through this tapestry:
Echoes at Dawn |
Untitled Slumbers |
Fractured Time