In the flicker
between breaths,
a word is born —
silent, yet
singing through
the fabric of dusk.

Light spills secrets,
invisible ink
tracing patterns
on the skin of dreams,
while echoes weave
through the loom
of forgotten sight.

Do you hear
the whispering veil,
a shiver of stars
on a moonlit horizon,
where reality cloaks
itself in illusion?