Somewhere beyond the mouth of the shadow,
murmurs of the nameless awaken in twilight.
The whorls spin, the fibers shout. “Who are you?”
slips into the fabric like dew on the morning.
In the quiet recesses, a whisper:
☉
Reveal the mystery—the identity coiled,
beneath layers of past and present mist.
Echoes of children laughing under the moon,
Δ
an invisible path through cracks in the cosmos.
You are your own shroud, in fragments and reflections.
Follow the eternal question:
The Gazebo of Time - a portal?
The Mirror’s Whisper - a reflection?