The Silence Gathers
At the edge of evening, the forest releases its last gold. Root, stone, and shadow draw close to one another, almost becoming a single body. Then a small pane of light finds the moss and remains.
In The Silence Gathers, Lucas Varro offers a spare lyric poem of evening stillness, forest hush, and the quiet gravity of light held for a moment before darkness completes its work. The poem belongs to The Vow, a house for compressed poems shaped by image, silence, and afterlife.
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Also in The Lantern Chronicles
What the Hand Knew
In a room gone blue with evening, a hand moves before thought. What the Hand Knew is a quiet poem of bodily recognition: the beloved beside us, ordinary and unaware, while touch remembers home before the mind can arrive.
The Hut We Carry With Us
A Living Way essay on Kamo no Chomei, Hojoki, solitude, refuge, and the danger of becoming attached to the very life that saved us. The hut may shelter the soul from the noise of the world — but it may also become another possession.
Fires of the Old World XV — The Serpent-River Dance
A hearthlit retelling of Krishna and Kaliya, the poisoned river, and the child who danced on the serpent’s hood until the water breathed again.
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If this piece found something in you, you may wish to continue the journey elsewhere.
On The Lantern Chronicles, I gather writings from Angkor, myth and legend, contemplative essays, and poetry — works shaped by silence, beauty, wonder, memory, and the deeper questions that follow us through the world.
It is a place for stone and story, reflection and vow, shadow and revelation.
You would be most welcome there.