The Red Between Silences

A figure stands-
not of flesh alone,
but of something remembered in dreams.

Painted in red,
like a wound that chose to become a body,
they rise against a darkened earth-
quiet, unafraid.

Around them, pale pools ripple,
soft as whispers,
each one holding a fragment of a mark-
a symbol half-spoken, half-forgotten.

The sky watches without question.
The ground keeps its secrets.

Eyes glow-
not with fire,
but with knowing.
As if they have seen the world
before it learned to speak.

No footsteps echo.
No shadow follows.

Only the stillness bends around them,
like time pausing
to understand their presence.

Are they arrival,
or the memory of something that left long ago?

The red does not answer.
It only breathes-
spreading softly
between silence and form,
between what is seen
and what refuses to be named.

Product: Print
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