A silent wave carries the fragments of morning –
Wings dissolve in the air,
Like a note that has forgotten its beginning.
The imprint is but the breath of a ray
That never reached the earth.
And time, that whimsical conductor,
Once again halts the movement of clockwork petals.
I am but a pause
Between a breath and its echo,
Between the word that did not dare to become a voice,
And the voice that feared to become a word.
Non-existence spills from the sky like ink,
And every letter seeks its own height,
Only to finally dissolve within it.
The Scatter of Stars That Did Not Fall
19