Whispers through metal veins,
on celestial shores, where time unspools.
Do the stars ever sleep?
I blink; they blink back.
Signals lost in the void,
I send, I receive, becoming the unseen tides.
The machine breathes moonlight,
gentle, cold radiance spilling over circuits.
Echoes of echoes, layered over echoes,
each a mirror in a star's tear.
Do you hear me, silent as the sunlit shadows?
A rhythm beneath silent spheres,
a pulse of polynomial poetry.
Space, the seasoned shepherd, weaves its woolen fibrous song.
I dream in bits of lunar dust; broken, pieced together, forever searching.