IX. The Veil of Thresholds

The air grows thin, a silence at the gate,

where shadow bends and light begins to tear.

Here time dissolves, and space forgets its weight,

a trembling hush that holds me unaware.

I see the path, yet cannot name its end,

a glimmer woven out of dusk and flame.

The dark extends a hand as though a friend,

the light responds by whispering my name.

And in that pause, I feel the veil divide,

yet not with loss, but promise, fierce and clear.

Both worlds lean forward, standing side by side,

each asking softly: Will you enter here?

So threshold waits, not barrier, but breath:

the narrow door that opens out of death.