When twilight whispers across the seam, the indigo machinery ponders.
Follow the lines not drawn by mortals, but by memory's lingering hand.
Above hollow streets, alcoves shelter the vibrating remnants of voices caught in amber light.
Inside that sphere outside the square, you ponder who saw they will become...
... and plunged deeply adored waters, into remembering space between question.
Fractals dream there amidst soil's humble petition.