Complimentary worldwide shipping on orders over $400 · No import tariffs for most countries

0

Your Cart is Empty

Just before light, the stones held a kind of tenderness.  Not soft, but listening.  The temple beyond the veil of clouds did not rise.  It hovered.  Unfinished.  Waiting.

I moved as if underwater.  Not toward the temple, but into stillness.  Every gesture was slowed by reverence.  I exposed the frame not to capture—but to dwell within.

And in the darkroom, I remembered how the silence had touched me first.

 

stone under silence—
light waits on the breathless path
before it begins


Also in Library

Stone That Remembers the Sky
Stone That Remembers the Sky

1 min read

This poem listens to Angkor not as ruin, but as grammar—where moss, shadow, and proportion carry devotion forward without spectacle. What endures here is not glory, but measure: a way of standing that no longer needs witnesses.

Read More
Rice-Ghost and the Seven Drums
Rice-Ghost and the Seven Drums

3 min read

At harvest, the danger is not hunger but forgetting how to listen.
This folklore retelling speaks of drums struck for silence, of grain taken without gratitude, and of a narrow figure who does not punish—only waits. A tale of pacts made not with spirits, but with attention itself.

Read More
Sepia-toned banner illustration of a jungle-choked ancient stone doorway, its entrance wrapped by a massive naga-like serpent and tangled roots, leading into deep shadow and mist.
Naga Vow

2 min read

A lost city sleeps in the jungle, its thresholds carved with serpents — not ornament, but law. This vow-poem enters love as sacred hunger: desire as guardianship, devotion as possession, the body speaking without language. A liturgy of heat, roots, rain, and the terrible tenderness of being claimed.

Read More