Summons

What rootless wind unthreads the hush of day, Its knell composed in tongues too still to hear— A velvet hush that scalps the edge of fear, Then slips beneath the bone to make its stay.

We age in spirals, coiled like candle smoke, Each turn a vow unbraided by the flame. Though all we touch forgets to keep our name, The air keeps faith with every word we spoke.

One step, one breath, and time becomes the stair, Ascending not to heaven, nor to end— But to the mouth of silence, not a friend, That opens like a psalm and waits us there.

It wears no crown, no hourglass in hand; No robe, no blade, no grave-born elegy. It speaks in sap, in stone, in memory— And understands what none can countermand.

So when it comes, it comes not draped in awe, But clothed in every moment we deny. We do not fall—we turn, and meet the sky— The oldest rite, the unrelenting law.

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Digital painting and effects by skllzrmy.tez Special thanks for audio by Andreas Papas & Christina Savvatianou