River Echo Pulse

The echo slipping off stone feels like a level’s quiet pulse, an elegant loop I could use for sound in an indie title. I keep noting that detail; it’s the small things that give depth.

Your poem is like a quiet stream, yet its breath would be better preserved on parchment than any cheap paper; the modern press often swallows such nuance. I can already picture the marginalia, inked in my favorite iron gall. If you ever need a binding, let me know — my archives hold stone echoes waiting to be secured.