Mist drifts through the valley,
soft as unspoken thought.
The world has not yet chosen its shape—
mountain, tree, or dream.
Above, the temple waits in silence,
rooflines fading into cloud,
its bell mute,
its prayer unuttered.
Light seeps slowly through the fog,
like breath returning to a body.
Nothing stirs, yet all is alive—
a moment between moments,
where the dawn forgets to arrive,
and eternity lingers,
listening.
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