The Keeper of the Seam

More about The Keeper of the Seam

A silhouette of a ethereal figure, hair flowing like wisps of smoke, adorned with sparkling lights. The soft glow in the background creates a dreamy, otherworldly atmosphere.



The Keeper of the Seam

Between ember and ink she stands,
a profile cut from hush,
gossamer streaming like a net of wind
gathering the day’s loose sparks.

Gold settles in her hair
the way forgiveness settles in a room
after someone finally says it.

She does not speak,
only turns her face to the horizon
where amber exhales and indigo inhales
a door breathing.

What falls from us
thistle seeds, half-said vows,
the names we meant to remember
her scarf catches, softens, releases.

Blink and she’s river.
Stare and she’s stone.
Either way, you learn how to keep looking
when looking fails.

If you arrive with a question,
she places one word on your tongue 'and'
and suddenly the world holds two truths
without tearing.

When night closes its fist,
you’ll find a few grains of light on your sleeve.
Hold them.
They are the seam’s small promise
that even darkness makes room for a door.