Thaw melts frost’s grip; dawn’s mist veils the hush, cradling silence’s hum as seeds of light breach through.

A sigh in the frost—
the sky dips low, cradling
the hush before light.
Mist wears dawn’s reflection,
threads of breath where worlds untie.
Silence hums, a lullaby
for endings and the seeds
of what might bleed through.

A whispered ode to the veiled—where shadow dances, light bends, and endings cradle new beginnings, all in the breath of mist’s tender embrace.

Dawn’s quiet hum, a moth-wing drift,
unspools the dark’s last stubborn thread.
Mist claws at edges, sees no seams,
dissolves the boundary between

what lingers and what stirs anew.
It cradles ashes, births faint roses—
a prayer in vapor, soft and vast,
to witness endings tenderly
before rebirth knits the torn seam.