Can You hear me? At the edge, I sit listening. To the silence of winter getting louder. Standing in a bowl formed by primordial forces. Round as Ymir’s skull— so large, we can’t see it all. Only glimpsing traces. What comes before the utterance? A home in


The depth is grounding. It fills me with tension and terror. 

With life. 

And a remnant of a revelation too vast.

That I Am a crater— defined by what I lack— a million years in a moment. 

A creator.

That I Am the Silence before words          can You hear me?

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