Chaos und Stille

Between chaos and silence,where the brittle mind hums its slow collapse,there is a flutter—not quite movement, not quite stillness,a shiver of wings against the hollow breath of glass. A butterfly, or the memory of one,pressed against the scaffold of an unraveling dream,its delicate insistence a whisper:What were you before you became this?The lattice quivers. The light refracts.There is no ...