In the hollow of the void, where shimmering membranes of dusk
fashion galaxies, we sing amidst the echoes of silent ecliptics.
Gentle hands of starmatter
weave through skeletal verses, painting
existence's breath against the cool veil of night.
Vast and unseen,
a constellation carved in
dreams languid, free in celestial drift —
idle hymnbooks light-years wide,
whispering all the musings of solstice wanderers.