It was born in a fissure
where the world is not divided into here and there,
in the moment when form had not yet decided
what it would become.
It was not written by hand.
It was written by drawing light
through a darkness that remembers.
Here, words carry no weight.
They are a passage.
What holds meaning
remains unspoken.
If something within you shifts
as this passes through your gaze,
that is not understanding.
It is remembering.
This is not a message.
This is a sign
that boundaries dissolve
when no one is holding them.
It was written there
where worlds cease to touch
and begin to recognize one another.