essence roots itself
in a trace of breath—silent,
ephemeral, runed–

essence roots itself
without location, time or
juxtaposition–

in a trace of breath, silent
universes take
hold, as if infused by clouds—

ephemeral, runed–
needing no gods, no hourglass
to spell out what is

I’ve written a troiku for Muri’s scavenger hunt which comes slant at the NaPoWriMo prompt to “describe something in terms of what it is not”.