Orpheus (2025)
The walls are not stone.
They hold no weight,
but the air between them has a kind of gravity.
A growing skeleton rising through shadow.
coral finding shape in the dark,
roots climbing toward whatever passes for light.
A lung, learning how to breathe.
There’s no plan to this space.
No measure holds.
It builds and unbuilds itself in the same breath.
Scale means nothing here.
The ribs could be fingers.
They could be towers.
Only those who still dream can enter.
The rest walk through as if through mist,
never noticing the threshold,
never seeing how the noise has gathered into form.
We are inside something still emerging
dust settling into shapes,
chaos beginning to listen to its own rhythm.
And when it dreams.
Whose eyes are open?
Ours, looking in?
Or its, looking out through us?