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
Silence?
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?
