The stars whisper secrets, echoes of a forgotten harmonium, pulling at the veins of the night sky. Beam by luminescent beam, they guide our sail boats through constellations; their pomegranates ripe with intention.
Navigation logs repeat in concentric circles, bruised by memory: una sal de star, de mar a luna, translations slip like solace. Waves of time dissolve in cratered breaths, framing an eternity anew.
Nocturnal charts reveal truths deeply hidden, elixirs brewed under silvered constellations. The overture of cosmic currents orchestrates flights; we follow, wandering spirits beneath the falcon's arch.
Phantom echoes mark destinies, singing the hours in celestial synesthetics. Are we the inky quill against the universe's parchment, or mere dancers to the grand cadenza?
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