There are no shadows amid gray. Nor heat nor silence nor fear. The skittering, unknown numbness of a hueless sea whose life was long ago lost and fossilized and petrified and stratified and ground to grit by forceless waves. And so the sameness swirls and gray accretes on gray and disperses, whether after eons or seconds none can say, shaping and reshaping in the mind’s eye image after image of old. And true likenesses none, for even Mnemosune’s lies take on life’s colors – hope and din and chill and shadows – while the gray remains gray. It is the unsaid when no words exist, it is the illumined no-bottom, it is not a place, but an absence.