Stillness Before Time Resumes

I arrived before birdsong, before even the guards had stirred.  The corridor exhaled its centuries in the scent of lichen, ash, and wet sandstone.  No wind—only the curl of incense from a monk’s hand.  Then He emerged: Ta Reach, eight-armed, garlanded in jasmine and time, veiled in half-light.  Not standing in glory, but stillness.

I waited until thought dissolved.  The camera remained open—not to take, but to receive.  One breath.  One long exposure.  Later, in the darkroom, I shaped that hush with shadow and light.  Every curve remembered.

Still before the gods—
stone listens more than it speaks,
light becoming vow.