morning folds itself
  like paper grown too heavy,
and the light hesitates
  to speak its own name.

I cross a breath
  that belongs to no one,
a corridor without walls
  where every step erases itself
   before it lands.

Time —
  that old tightrope walker —
slips off his line,
and falls
  without falling,
   without sound,
    without end.

A voice —
 or maybe its shadow —
tells me:
 “Nothing is lost,
   but nothing is found.”

I lean my ear
  toward a silence
   that breathes,
toward a word
  that turns back
   against itself,
like a mirror
  refusing
   its own reflection.

And I —
  in this theatre without a stage —
search for a trace,
  a thread,
   an almost‑meaning,
but every slips
  like water
   that does not wet.

So I close my eyes —
  not to see,
   but to let approach
what trembles
  at the edge of the real:
a glimmer,
  a breath,
   a presence
    that will not speak its name.

An other AI assited song using a different solo electric  guitar  improvisation .