Megosztott hang

Six threads drawn from distant looms, Six shadows cast by different moons. Where paths repeat and time grows thin, The broken weave will call them in. One sees the dream the night reveals, One walks the blade that never yields. One hears the wind where none is made, One moves unseen in light and shade. One feels the earth beneath the lie, One hunts with wolves where spirits cry. Together bound, or all undone — For what is woven can’t be spun.