Twisted loop of gravity, stolen silence...
I remember characters adrift— a sage stands without ages,
and here chemical stars are born in the sigh of dust.
"Can serenity be seen?" she murmurs in part-direction, gazing skyward, untethered.
Galactic over-slide upon my weary forehead— smeared poets'
whispers forge constellations out of forgotten yearning.
Once, a nebula said, "Patchwork hearts in time's historiography..."
Intertwined thoughts space-time-as-hero's journey .
The quiet remember how each star burns with sacrifices unnamed.
Elegance and disgust dance lunar tides coded in nebulous scripts of the poet's pen.