I knew a man who spoke to flowers, set them trembling, whispering their secrets to the quivering air. Delicate things have the most subtle powers. Water over stone, fairy pond, and Merlin's throne, crow calls and the forest sighs long. "Listen to the world," you said. "Learn it's song." Shadows have shadows if you know how to look. We see so much clearer in the dark. My shadow's shadow has a bit of yours quantum entangled at its heart.
Forest, lake, indigo, night, turning.
This thought-spider spins a thread, tenuous- thus -indestructible, widow-wise, widow-dark that shivers, aeolean, with your breath. Casting, perl, cast. The leaves spell out my strange refrain, convey it to the passing wind. Winding, winding, weaving my way back to find where first heard my name whispered by the falling rain.
Fleeting, lightning, improbable, nearly, touching.
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