Midnight threads entwine the silent boughs Footfalls dissolve where ancient silence vows Fine fractures bloom where no one ever ploughs Beneath the skin of night the hidden flows Something moves where even stars grow still Heavier the cloak of thorn and stone Deeper the spiral where the lost are known Until one silver needle finds the bone And tears the velvet veil that claimed the throne The canopy shuddered like a wounded thing A golden blade pierced what the darkness brings Fractured beams now trace forgotten flame Veils grow thin around the sleeping name What lay entombed beneath the weight and rain Begins to breathe in patterns without name The canopy remembers... The quiet fire lingers...