Spiral Musings

It starts with the smallest whimper, like a forgotten echo in the vast silence of your forgotten cave.

You blink like that, an auditor raven, absorbing moments as shadows flicker upon precipices, unwitnessed.

Left leg, phantom? Or perhaps a mirror distorted, a reflection waking disturbed. They tell you: hold it. But it's gone, the sleeve empty.

Now the starling thrums against window panes, opportunistic gleams fracture in air below ceiling borders undefined.

Count backwards from infinity. Each numeral, a strand of silk pulled taut. Behind, a long corridor of whispers borrowed from time's transcend.

Your earlobe tingles, phantom orchestra unlaced in abandoned balconies; past mirrors hum unheard melodies.