A river unspoken that moves in the dark, leaving no embers, ignition, or spark, it flows past the senses, subtle and slow, a nocturnal cadence that wanders below the damp skies, as twilight dissolves and quiet dreams rise, it asks for nothing, it takes no name, no banks to hold it, no two nights the same, only the hush between thought and sleep, where what we bury learns to seep —