Wandering Silks

Dream weaves through the interstice of remembrance, unfurling whispers captured in delicate thread, each strand a fragment of what was, what might be.

Yesterday slipped unnoticed between the curtains of consciousness, whispering like an ancient silk merchant, tails of quiet stories trailing behind, shimmering in the forgotten morning light.

When did the voices become intertwined with the patterns of wandering clouds? I forget the answers spun in the shadows, sitting behind the woven lattice of fading echoes.