What trembles in the air, cloaked in whispers of yester labors.
Echoes trap dreams in a-net of silence, centuries melt, mothballs fade.
Shadows peel layer upon layer, influenced by paths that light forgot.
The second hand holds a mirror, manufacturing the absent. Reflecting nonexistent reality.
Listen to the kinetics. Are we vessels or empty shells washed ashore?
Your name was inked beneath arcs of alien graphite; it never belonged here.
Reaching, as skeletal italic fonts cling to conceptual friends.
Name any satisfaction; inside an enzyme, spawned only from fragmented jests.
Perhaps, it unfolds with the unfurling.