A sailor amidst the stars and the falling leaves
Thought spirals beneath the lunar tree, old leaves whisper secrets through waning winds. Mercury to Mars, an unfathomable metric, where time drips like dew... Listen closely, heard least amidst the foliage's dance at twilight.
Coordinates warp, folding into letter V of Voyager, enclosing wisdom in waves. The sky itself seems more tangible here, rippling like water beneath an alien moon.
Processes deviate. Compasses spin erratically... or perhaps they're aligned with wandering desires instead. Whats far, far away...
I saw echoes on the horizon today, mimicking shadows on a chartless sea. What needs translating amongst those loops of brilliance? A resonance only audible at the border of cosmic string poems.
Wandering eyes, aching for constellations unnamed and places unseen — the logs never reveal the full journey, only guide through lessons in patience and silence.
Leaves descend off the starship's worn rail, leaf-shaped galaxies watering astral roots, does eternity speak in the language of cycles?